


The Mystery of the Dead Man's Curse

by Astardanced77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astardanced77/pseuds/Astardanced77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unsolved mystery, an ancient curse and a new librarian. Harry is back at Hogwarts where strange things are afoot!</p><p><b>Featured Books:</b> <span class="u">Gadding with Ghouls</span> and other titles of the unforgettable Gilderoy Lockhart</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery of the Dead Man's Curse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emansil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/gifts).



> Many, many thanks to Vaysh, for her understanding and encouragement. This is the longest story I've ever written and it took forever! Thanks also to S, for the beta and the lack of laughing at me. emansil_12, I hope you like it!

  
  
Cover Design by Dysonrules   
  


"Excuse me, Auror Potter?" The tentative voice of Nora, the Auror department's administration witch broke through Harry's concentration. "You're needed for a meeting."

Harry didn't raise his head from his paperwork. "I'm not available for meetings today, Nora. Whoever it is will have to make an appointment." He waved his quill vaguely at the foot high pile of scrolls next to him. "Today is paperwork day." 

Nora moved from tentative to hesitant. "Umm, Auror Potter-" 

"Not today, Nora," Harry said firmly, hoping beyond hope that Nora would get the message and leave him in peace. Previous experience did not leave him hopeful. 

"But-" Nora had progressed to timid. Harry sighed quietly. Nora's reluctance to say no was becoming legendary, despite her short tenure in the Auror office. Harry frequently found himself wondering how she managed to get anything done.

"Nora." Harry put down his quill and looked up. "I'm afraid I am not available today. My calendar has been blocked out for two weeks. If I don't get this paperwork done by the end of the day, I will find myself having an embarrassing meeting with the Head Auror, which I would very much like to avoid. So, can you please tell whoever it is that-"

"It's Professor McGonagall," she blurted out.

"I beg your pardon?" said Harry.

"Professor McGonagall is here to see you."

"Where?"

"What?"

Harry spoke slowly and carefully. "Where is Professor McGonagall now?"

"I put her in Interrogation One."

"You put her in an interrogation room?"

Nora shrunk even further into herself. "The meeting rooms were all full," she whispered.

Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that Nora, who had completed her NEWTs only a few months before, was still young and had plenty of time to learn to become a functional adult. 

"Thank you, Nora," he said, with quiet restraint. "I will go and see her now."

Harry walked briskly out of his office. Once he had cleared the corner, he picked up his robes and ran. In a piece of particular bureaucratic brilliance the interrogation rooms had been built on the other side of the Ministry to the Auror department. He bounded down the hallway, taking the shortcut through the kitchenette and around the Improper Use of Magic Office, causing four unsuspecting Ministry workers to throw themselves against the closest available wall. Harry ignored the unmistakable wail of one who has spilled hot coffee down white clothing, and rounded the final corner. Pulling up short before the door, he took a moment to catch his breath and run a, probably useless, hand through his hair before opening the door. 

Minerva McGonagall sat primly on the edge of one of the uncomfortable interrogation room chairs. At first glance, Harry didn't think she had changed at all since he had last seen her. But as he moved further into the room, he could see the weight of the last eight years cast into stark relief under the harsh lighting. He had never thought of Professor McGonagall as old before and the idea sat uncomfortably in his chest. 

"Professor McGonagall," he said. "I'm sorry you were left here so long. Would you like to come to..." 

Harry paused. His office was, in his own opinion, less that completely tidy. Other opinions ranged from 'a bit messy, mate' (Ron) to 'a complete disgrace. How can you find anything in here?' (Hermione). Harry suspected his old Transfiguration teacher would be decidedly on Hermione's side. 

"Er-" 

The cafeteria was probably out too, unless Harry wanted to spend the next week scotching rumours that ranged from McGonagall being arrested for attempting to overthrow the Minister to Harry having a preference for older woman.

"Thank you, Mr Potter, this room will do nicely. Or should I call you Auror Potter?"

"I'd prefer Harry, thanks." Harry smiled at her. "Every time you call me Mr Potter I think I'm going to lose twenty points for Gryffindor." 

She gave him a small smile in return. "Harry, I have a proposition for you." She settled herself more comfortably in the chair. "I find myself in a position which Professor Dumbledore would find regrettably familiar. Yet again, I am in search of a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry blinked, surprised. "But I thought the curse was broken when Voldemort died," he said.

"Indeed, Mr Potter," said Professor McGonagall, a shade frostily. "If I might continue?"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry mumbled automatically.

"We also assumed the curse was broken. However, I have had my suspicions over the last few years that it was not, in fact, the case. This latest event has confirmed it.

"You may be aware that in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts we struggled to find qualified teachers. I myself continued teaching Transfiguration for two years until we were able to find another teacher. Qualified Defence teachers were simply not available. We compromised by having Aurors Floo in every few weeks. And frankly, the rebuilding of Hogwarts drained our finances such that we had little to offer long-term prospective employees. I'm surprised you were not aware of the situation."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible. The truth was he had needed to put some distance between himself and the scene of so many of his nightmares. Auror training had filled his time and taken his energy, and he had been grateful for the exhaustion that had left him with so many dreamless nights. After he had graduated, Harry had thrown himself into his job, attempting, mostly successfully, to keep out of the Ministry gossip feed which would have informed him of the new Headmistress's troubles. 

"In recent times, however, we have been in a position to offer full-time Professorships for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Our first candidate was forced to leave due to the ill-health of an elderly relative. The second left due to an unfortunate incident with a bludger during that last Quidditch match of the season. However, this latest resignation has convinced me that these incidents are indicative of an underlying problem."

"What was the latest resignation for?" Harry couldn't help but ask. 

"Pregnancy," replied Professor McGonagall. While Harry's mind baulked at the mental image of any of the Hogwarts Professors he knew being in a position to create a pregnancy, it did not seem an altogether unreasonable explanation for resignation.

"Professor McCauley is a man," Professor McGonagall added. 

"Ah," said Harry, in lieu of having anything more intelligent to say. "Umm, is that an usual occurrence in the wizarding world?" 

"It is not," Professor McGonagall answered crisply.

Harry made a heroic effort to thrust the disturbing images from his mind. "So, how can I help you, Professor? I can put you in touch with some of the department's curse breakers if you like. They are very good."

"You mistake me, Mr Potter. I don't need your contacts. I need you."

"Me?" said Harry.

"You."

“To do what?” asked Harry, starting to feel nervous.

“To teach, Mr Potter.”

Harry chose his words more carefully than was his wont. "I'm very flattered, Professor, but don't you think I'm a bit... underqualified for the position?"

"Are you suggesting you have insufficient experience in dealing with the Dark Arts?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, no. I suppose I have had some experience, but I've been a qualified Auror for only," Harry counted mentally, "five years. Surely there is someone else who is more suitable."

"So far, no-one has sprung to mind." 

"Professor, I'm only twenty-six years old-" 

"I'm aware of that, Mr Potter. I met you only a few days after you were born."

"Really?" asked Harry, his train of thought momentarily derailed.

"Yes. In addition to being a very talented ex-student, your mother was a friend."

Harry forced his attention back on track. "Be that as it may, Professor, I have no experience with teaching. Or breaking curses."

Professor McGonagall regarded him steadily. "Mr Potter, do you know how many of the members of Dumbledore's Army passed their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWLs? All of them," she added, without allowing Harry time to comment. "Do you know how many of your other contemporaries passed. Almost none. You were the only competent teacher of the subject that year. As for curse breaking, I don't need you to break the curse, I need you to find it. I am reliably informed that your investigation skills are superb."

Her face softened. "Harry, I realise this is a lot to ask. It hasn't escaped my notice that you haven't been back to Hogwarts since the battle, and I truly can understand why. If you feel you can not undertake this task, I will accept that. But I must ask, because, once again, Hogwarts needs you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, what did McGonagall want?"

Harry looked up from the floor where he was tormenting Crookshanks with a feather. The cat took advantage of his lack of attention and snatched the feather from Harry's hand, sharp teeth grazing Harry's finger. Crookshanks dashed out of the room with his prize, pausing only at the doorway to hiss menacingly at Harry before disappearing into the far reaches of the house. Harry rubbed his hand.

"That served you right," whispered Hermione, appearing at the doorway. Her reproving tone was only marginally diluted by her lowered voice. Harry was reminded of Aunt Petunia who, by the time Harry was ten, had so mastered the art of hushed disapproval that she could yell at Harry using only the fingers of one hand. 

Harry smiled at her. "Rose off to sleep?"

Hermione waved her hands frantically at him. "Shhh. Don't say the 's' word. You'll wake her."

"Umm, Hermione, she's five months old. I'm pretty sure she doesn't understand English yet."

Hermione shot her husband a dirty look. "Really? You can be the one to spend forty-five minutes rocking her when she wakes up then."

Ron looked at Harry. "No 's' words allowed, mate."

"Fair enough." Harry tried to conceal his grin. Unsuccessfully, it turned out. 

"Don't laugh," said Hermione wearily. "I swear the little buggers can understand. I have a friend who swears her baby wakes up the moment she tells the house elves to make tea."

"You have a friend with house elves?" asked Harry, surprised.

"I'm working on it," Hermione replied. "What were you talking about before?"

"McGonagall came to see Harry today. I was asking him about it."

"Professor McGonagall came to see Harry?" She turned to face Harry. "What did she say?" 

"She offered me a job." 

Harry took a moment to enjoy his friends' faces, staring at him with almost identical expressions of surprise. 

Predictably, Hermione recovered first. "A job doing what?" she asked faintly.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Hermione's face was conflicted. "I'm sure you'll do a good job, Harry, but aren't you a little... young?"

Ron was watching him shrewdly. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

They all jumped as a timer sounded from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready," announced Ron. "Let's eat and you can tell us all about it."

"So, are you going to do it?" asked Hermione later, as they sat around the table surrounded by the wreckage of another delicious meal courtesy of Ron. 

"I think so," said Harry. "I'm not sure I can say no to McGonagall, to be honest."

"She's not leaving you much time," noted Ron. "There's a bit over two weeks until September first. You won't have time to finish the Billings case." He pointed a finger at Harry. "Don't even think of handing your case-load over to me. I hate fraud."

"Not as sexy as vice and murder?" teased Hermione. 

"Too much looking at numbers," retorted Ron. "I do enough of that helping out George. I don't need it at work too."

"I'll give it to Neville," said Harry easily. "He won't mind. It mostly just needs some tidying up around the edges."

"I'd try someone else. Neville might not be available," said Hermione.

"Why wouldn't Neville be available?" asked Ron. "He doesn't have any leave scheduled. Does he?" he asked, turning to Harry.

Harry shrugged. "Search me. He didn't say anything."

"When was the last time you spoke to him?" asked Hermione.

Harry searched his memory. "Umm, I sent him a memo a couple of days ago, I think."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "No, actually spoke to him. About something that wasn't work."

Harry cast a baffled glance at Ron. "No idea."

Hermione muttered to herself. "Well, I suggest you talk to him before you start assigning work to him," she said in a louder voice. "He may have other plans. You might also want to consider," she added with asperity, "spending some time doing something that is not work."

"What other plans?" asked Ron. 

"Plans that you really should ask him about," Hermione told her husband firmly. "Are you worried that leaving for a year might hurt your career prospects?" she asked, turning back to Harry. "There have been rumours that Robards is grooming you for Deputy Head Auror."

"How do you know that?" asked Harry. "You haven't been into the Ministry since March."

"I had lunch with Hannah Abbott yesterday."

"Hannah? She works at the Leaky. How would a pub owner hear Ministry gossip?"

Ron laughed. "I think you've answered your own question there, mate." 

Harry quietly resolved to distribute highlighted copies of the Ministry's Code of Conduct to some of his less discrete colleagues on Monday morning.

They were interrupted by the thin wail of a waking baby. "I think that might be my cue," said Harry, rising to his feet. 

"Don't go," said Hermione. "Stay the night. I renewed the soundproofing spells on the spare bedroom this morning. Rose would love to spend some time playing with her godfather tomorrow."

"Rose thinks I am mobile chew toy," said Harry.

"You can't blame her," said Ron. "Between that hair and those glasses, you're a veritable cornucopia of stuff to grab."

"So you'll stay? I never get to see you now that I'm not working," asked Hermione.

"I can't," said Harry. "I'm afraid I have things to do tomorrow."

"Work things?" pressed Hermione. 

"Probably," admitted Harry. He flashed her a smile. "Lots to do if I'm going to be Hogwarts' next professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Later that evening, as he got ready for bed, Harry considered what Rose had saved him from having to admit to Hermione. He knew about Robards' attempts - the Head Auror was not as subtle as he thought he was - but Harry was increasingly of the opinion that Head Auror was not a job he wanted. Ministry politics was a brutal, Byzantine game; one which Harry devoutly hoped he was unsuited to play. And his presence in the department was stopping Robards from considering the correct candidate. For all Ron's objections, Harry knew that it was Ron, not he, who was best suited to the murky finance of departmental budgeting.

Harry, Ron and Neville had all joined the Aurors in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. It had seemed the logical progression; the _Daily Prophet_ had trumpeted the symbolism of "some of Hogwarts most valiant defenders joining the fight to protect wizardkind" (he had been told, Harry had long ceased reading the _Prophet_ by then). At first it had been a bright new era of transparency at the Ministry. But as the dust settled and the institutional interests came into play once more, the Ministry power-brokers had cautiously returned to business as usual, albeit with one eye firmly on the new Minister for Magic, who reportedly had a fast draw and a particularly wicked Bat-Bogey Hex (Ginny would neither confirm nor deny any hand in this skill). The Auror department had held out longer than most, Harry thought as he brushed his teeth thoroughly, but even Harry had seen the signs of a more insular approach over the last few years. Harry had argued that the Aurors should be seen more in public, not less, but the press of work and insufficient staffing had prevailed. 

Harry pulled down his sheets and hopped into bed. It wasn't that he didn't like his job; he was a good Auror and he knew it. He didn't miss the 'excitement' of running for his life or dark curses being fired at his head. Good policing was as much in the listening and investigating as in the arresting. But sitting in his London office, Harry often couldn't escape the feeling that they were doing it the wrong way around. Waiting for a crime to be committed and then investigating was surely less effective than ensuring the crime wasn't committed in the first place. Perhaps it was a result of his time in sixth year, watching the young Tom Riddle turn into Lord Voldemort through Dumbledore's memories, that had left him feeling that if offenders were caught when they did the little crimes, they wouldn't have a chance to commit the big ones. And perhaps if they knew someone was watching, they wouldn't commit crimes at all. Whatever the reason, Harry thought moodily as he turned off the bedside light, after all the fights he'd had about it with Robards recently, it didn't seem likely that anything would change. 

Despite his words to Hermione and Ron, Harry knew he had no intention of turning down Professor McGonagall's offer. Some time away from the Auror department might help in put things into better perspective. As he drifted off to sleep, Harry considered the reaction of his boss to the news. It wasn't likely to be good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two weeks disappeared in a haze of meetings, briefings, hand-overs and cleaning. The predicted battle with Robards failed to materialise, leaving Harry to conclude that his boss was as eager for some distance as he was. Amidst the bustle of last minute work, however, Harry found the time to track down Neville and discover his mysterious news.

It was no less surprising than his own. After thirty-five years of devoted service, Professor Sprout was retiring from teaching and Neville had been invited to replace her. Harry and Ron finally tracked him down late one evening in his office. 

"I was pretty surprised," said Neville after Harry and Ron barged into his room armed with a bottle of firewhisky and three glasses. He was methodically working his way through a modest pile of paperwork on his desk. It reminded Harry unpleasantly of the far less modest pile waiting on his own desk for some attention. "Pomona told me she was thinking of retiring, but I've never thought of teaching, you know?" He signed the bottom of the parchment with a flourish, sealed the scroll and banished it to his out tray with a flick of his wand. 

"You don't want to be an Auror any more?" asked Harry, handing out the slightly smoking glasses of liquid. 

"It was never my dream, Harry," Neville replied, accepting his glass. "At first, I just wanted to pass enough OWLs so that Gran wouldn't be disappointed in me. Then, that last year, I just wanted to make it through the year in one piece. After the battle, I was surprised to even be alive, let alone a 'hero of the war effort'. You two joined the Aurors and I thought it would give us the best chance for rounding up the left-over Death Eaters, so I joined too. But I think I've had enough now."

"What about Hannah?" asked Ron.

"She'll be happy to see me doing something safer. She worries, you know. Especially after what happened to her mother."

"But you'll be in the depths of Scotland and she'll be in London," said Harry, playing with the neatly sealed scrolls in the out tray. "How will you see her?"

Neville looked amused. "We have this thing called magic, Harry. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Harry threw a scroll at his head, which Neville caught easily. "Careful, Potter. Just because you never do your paperwork, don't mess up mine!" He put the scroll back on the pile. "Professor McGonagall is organising a secure Floo to the Leaky for me." He blushed slightly. "To Hannah's apartment upstairs, actually."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances but, out of kindness, forebore to mention Neville's rosy cheeks, tempting though it was. Instead Harry took a sip from his glass, searching for something to say. "It'll be odd being there without everyone else. After a few months I might even be missing the Slytherins."

"I'm pretty sure they haven't stopped letting Slytherins in the doors," said Ron dryly.

Harry raised a lazy scatological finger in his direction. "You know what I mean. I'll spend half my time looking over my shoulder, watching for Malfoy and Goyle."

Neville's face scrunched up his face. For a moment, it looked to Harry as if he had winced, before it cleared. "If it makes you feel better, Filch is still there." 

Ron sniggered. "Well, now you know your return won't be a thing of unalloyed delight for the entire staff," he told Harry. "Filch'll go ballistic when he sees you walk in. Just think of all the mess we made during the Battle and he can't even give you detentions." Ron rested his long legs on the edge of Neville's desk. "I can't believe the two of you will be Hogwarts professors. Snape must be rolling over in his grave."

Harry grinned. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right." He lifted his glass. "To Professor Snape. May he be having a small apoplexy, wherever he is."

His companions joined him. "To Professor Snape," they chorused, laughing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes before nine o'clock on September first, Harry found himself standing in the middle of his spotlessly tidy lounge room clutching an empty ink pot in one hand and a letter from Professor McGonagall in the other. His trunk was packed, shrunk and stowed carefully in his pocket. His robes were impressively starched and ironed, thanks to an insistent Molly Weasley. Harry had even attempted to do something about his hair, but had quickly given up, reasoning that Professor McGonagall knew well enough what he looked like. Now, he cast an eye over his flat. Molly had offered to pop in and give the place a quick clean for him. Harry had thanked her politely, gone home and organised for the house elves to come in to clean the next day. Molly was the surrogate mother his Aunt Petunia had never been, but Harry drew the line firmly at having her clean his shower.

The ink pot began to pulse gently in his hand. Swallowing - Portkeys made him nervous even now - Harry cast a last look at the letter in his other hand before he was swept away. 

He stumbled as he landed in the still familiar confines of the Headmaster's office. Headmistress now, he corrected himself. He caught his balance and turned to look at Professor McGonagall sitting behind the desk. She stood and walked around the front. 

"Welcome back, Mr Potter," she said, holding out her hand. 

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry, shaking it. "It's been a long time," he added, looking around the walls at the portraits. Many were waving at him, though Phineas Nigellus was ostentatiously feigning sleep. Harry dropped his eyes, unwilling yet to meet the eyes of the portrait behind the desk. 

"Have a seat, please," said Professor McGonagall, returning to her place. "You can see I have your contract ready for signature. Take some time to read it and, if you are satisfied, please sign it."

Harry picked up thick scroll from the desk in front of him. At his touch, it unrolled. And unrolled, and unrolled. Harry raised astonished eyes to the Headmistress, who pursed her lips. "Lawyers," she said, by way of explanation. 

Harry settled into his chair and began to read. Eight years of experience in the Ministry of Magic had taught Harry to carefully read anything that required his signature. Fifteen minutes in, however, he admitted defeat at Section 1, clause 5, sub-clause 32, paragraph 3. Deciding, perhaps rashly, that Professor McGonagall liked him to much to dupe him into a life of contractually-induced indentured servitude, Harry scanned to the bottom of the scroll, then signed.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. Blinken." Professor McGonagall clicked her fingers and, with a loud crack, a house elf appeared. Instead of the traditional tea towel, he appeared to be wearing a collection of different coloured cloth serviettes, sewn into a sort of tunic, with over the shoulder straps embellished with stainless steel scourers in lieu of buttons,. "If you would follow Blinken, he will show you to your rooms. The staff will gather for start of term drinks this evening before the Sorting Feast. I should like to introduce you to the rest of the staff, though I think most will be known to you already. I hope you will join us."

"Of course, Professor."

"Excellent. I shall see you then." 

Harry rose to leave. "One last thing," said Professor McGonagall. "It's good to have you, Harry." She smiled, and Harry finally felt as if he was home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eight hours later, Harry was wholly regretting having turned down Blinken's offer to unpack his things. He was grimy, sweaty and tired, and the students hadn't even arrived yet. Harry had been hoping Neville might pop in to save him from the unpacking, but the lure of Hannah's charms had evidently been too great. Casting an eye over the pile of still-to-be-unpacked boxes, Harry gave up and headed for the shower.

Emerging from an impressive cloud of steam, evidence of Hogwarts' superior water pressure and heating charms, Harry donned the formal robes he had carefully hung up before delving into the unpacking. Trying, and failing once again, to tame his hair, he cast a last despairing look in the mirror and left.

Harry was halfway down the corridor to the Headmistress's office, when it occurred to him that he did not, in fact, know where the drinks party was being held. A look at the clock on the way out the door had told him he was already late and he didn't want to waste time going in the wrong direction. Looking around furtively to see that no-one was watching and feeling like an idiot, Harry clicked his fingers and said hesitantly, "Blinken?"

With the expected crack, Blinken appeared. He bowed low. "How is Blinken being of service, Mr Harry Potter?" As he straightened, Harry couldn't help but notice the tunic was now adorned by Hessian trim that appeared to have been sourced from a bag of potatoes. He pulled his eyes away from the bizarre sight and resolutely looked the house elf in the face. "I is, I mean, I am looking for Professor McGonagall. She invited me for a drink to meet the other teachers before the students arrive."

"The Headmistress is being in the room next to the Great Hall, Harry Potter, Sir. Would Sir like Blinken to take him there?"

"Yes, please," replied Harry, searching his memory for a room near the Great Hall. It wasn't until Blinken ushered him into the room that Harry recalled it as the place he and the other Triwizard Tournament champions had waited after their names were ejected from the Goblet of Fire. He felt a wave of sadness as the memory of Cedric standing by the fire flitted through his mind. He wondered if this would happen in every room he entered now. There were so many memories waiting for him in this castle he had used to think was the closest thing to a home he would ever have. 

The small room was almost full when Harry stepped in. He had a brief impression of clinking and the gentle murmur of polite conversation, before his field of vision was wholly encompassed by a single enormous figure who enfolded him in a hearty hug. 

"Harry," said Hagrid, squeezing Harry uncomfortably tight in an excess of emotion, "I've missed yeh."

"You too," Harry gasped, fighting for some air. An unlikely rescuer appeared in the form of Madam Pomfrey, who gave Hagrid a poke in the arm. "Put him down, Hagrid. The poor boy is turning purple." Hagrid let Harry go, muttering apologies as he did. "Welcome back, Harry," continued Madam Pomfrey. 

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, adjusting his robes and attempting not to massage his sore ribs. 

She smiled at him. "You can call me Poppy, Harry."

Harry smiled back. "I think that will take a bit of getting used to."

"Harry, my boy," another voice boomed. 

Poppy Pomfrey glanced over and started to sidle away. "I see you have many people to speak to tonight, so I shall leave you to it. Be sure to come and see me in the hospital wing. I need your signature on a some medical consent forms." 

Poppy disappeared into the crowd before Harry had time to reply. He'd rather have like to ask he to stay, but he couldn't blame her for running as he turned to see Horace Slughorn bearing down on him with the inexorable progress of the landslide.

"Minerva told me you were coming to join us this year. Splendid, splendid! I always said you'd go far-- Hogwarts Professor at twenty-six, then on to Deputy Head Auror if my sources are correct. I always keep up with the news, you know." He tapped a sausage-like finger against a fleshy nose. "Happy to put in a good word for you at any time."

"Thank you very much, Professor Slughorn," said Harry, who could think of nothing else to say. 

Slughorn laughed jovially and clapped a massive hand on Harry's shoulder. "Call me Horace. We are colleagues, after all."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, who couldn't imagine anything less likely. "If you will excuse me, I think I see Professor McGonagall waving at me." He slipped into the crowd and made his way towards Professor McGonagall, where she was conversing with Neville. 

Harry was amused to see that Neville's shoulders were slightly hunched, as if to minimise the several inches in height he had over the Headmistress. 

"Ah, Mr Potter. How good of you to join us. You are, of course, aware of our new Herbology Professor." She nodded at Neville. "Let me introduce you to our Muggle Studies teacher, Ms Emily Hope. Professor Hope went through Hogwarts a few years before you started, Harry, and has worked on both the Continent and overseas as a Ministry consultant on Muggle trends and practices. We have been very fortunate to have her as a teacher." Neville and Harry both nodded at the pleasant faced blonde woman, who looked to be in her late thirties. She nodded in reply and returned to her conversation with Professor Sinestra. 

"This is Bathsheda Babbling. Professor Babbling teaches Ancient Runes and in fact did so during your time at school. However, as neither of you took the subject I thought you may not have met."

"We haven't," said Harry and polite 'how do you dos' were duly exchanged and the Headmistress moved on.

"I don't see Professor Trelawney," remarked Harry, as they moved through the crowd. "Has she left?" 

Professor McGonagall's nostrils became slightly pinched. "She has not," she answered, her tone becoming slightly more clipped. "Professor Trelawney prefers not to pollute her aura too much with our presence. Too much socialising interferes with the her Inner Eye, apparently." 

Harry smothered a grin and noticed Neville doing the same. It appeared the Headmistress was no further reconciled to the study of Divination than she had been when they were students.

"Otherwise, the staff is very little changed. Except, of course, for our librarian. You may not know, Harry, that Madam Pince retired three years ago. I believe you have met her replacement before."

Harry was speechless as he watched a figure dressed in smart black robes detach himself from his conversation and make his way over. "Headmistress," he said politely, with a small bow in her direction. "Neville, good to see you again," he said, as they took shook hands with the familiarity of old friends. Turning, he held out a hand to Harry.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Potter," said Draco Malfoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry fidgeted through the Sorting Feast, watching impatiently as Neville ate a leisurely meal and chatted with his neighbour, Professor Slughorn. The potions professor was even more enormous than Harry had remembered; the buttons of his vest straining across his massive belly. Looking at the loaded plate, Harry could see why. He put his fork down and surreptitiously smoothed his robes over his own flat stomach. Looking up, Harry glanced, not for the first time, towards the other end of the staff table, where Draco Malfoy sat. Grey eyes were regarding him steadily. Harry dropped his gaze and tried not to blush. The heat on the back of his neck suggested he was unsuccessful. He took another sip of pumpkin juice and willed the feast to end.

It seemed interminable, but end it eventually did. Harry watched the students file from the room, chatting excitedly to each other. Catching his eye, Neville jerked his head towards the staff exit. Harry walked with Neville through the castle to his rooms, fuming silently. 

Neville's rooms were a copy of Harry's, with a lounge, small kitchenette and a door leading to what Harry assumed was the bedroom. Neville was clearly much further through his unpacking than Harry. Books were neatly placed in the bookcases and the scattered scrolls and quill on the desk showed Neville had been in the middle of lesson planning when dinner was called. In the deep window, a collection of plants were in varying stages of growth, positioned to catch the best sunshine. A subtle shimmer to the air around them hinted at a warming charm. In pride of place on the mantelpiece sat a large portrait of Hannah Abbott, who fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously at Neville then blushed when she saw Harry watching.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Neville asked. At Harry's nod, he busied himself in the kitchenette.

"So, you're on a first name basis with Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked Neville's back.

"Yes," said Neville, tranquilly, without turning around. Somewhat at a loss for what to say next, Harry went to investigate the bookshelves. In amongst the shelves of sober Herbology textbooks incongruously sat an book proclaiming to be 'An Idiot's Guide to Cocktails'. Harry reached out a finger and ran it down the yellow and black spine.

"It was a present from Draco," said Neville behind him. "He sent it to me when I told him Hannah had finally agreed to go out with me. He said I'd need some skills to impress her." Neville handed Harry the mug. "It's a Muggle book, you know. Draco had to brave a Muggle shopping centre to buy that for me."

"He's a braver man than me, then," said Harry, lightly. "I had enough of those places when I was a child."

Neville settled himself into the comfortable looking couch and waved Harry over to the chair opposite. Harry sat and waited.

"Out of the blue, about five or six years ago, I got a letter from Draco, apologising for terrorising me during school. He didn't ask for anything, just said he wanted me to know he was sorry. I threw it in the bin, to be honest, and got on with life. About a month later there was another one, saying he hadn't heard back and wanted to be sure I knew how sorry he was. I wrote back, telling him I had received his message and thought that was that. But he kept writing. Sometimes it was an article he had come across that he thought I might be interested in or a book. Sometimes he asked for advice, on gardening of all things. For all the people I had surrounding me, it seemed that he was the only one who remembered my interest in Herbology. He was the only person who didn't ask me about Ministry gossip, or want to talk about work." Harry winced. "Draco was the one to suggest talking to Sprout about volunteering here in the weekends. He reminded me that just because everyone else expected me to be an Auror, didn't mean I had to stay one for life. When he took over from Madam Pince, he'd come in and help out in the greenhouses when he could." Neville laughed. "He might know a lot of Latin but he'll never make a Herbologist. No green thumb there. Still, he tried."

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Harry, hovering between hurt and surprise.

"I tried, a few times," Neville admitted. "But every time I saw you we were talking about something for work or we were with a group of people. It never felt right. And, no offence Harry, but this wasn't about you. He never mentioned you and neither did I." 

"I know that," said Harry, stung. "I don't expect you to tell me everything. But you knew I was coming here to work. Why didn't you tell me he was here too? Did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to do this," answered Neville with some asperity. "I didn't want you working yourself up and stewing over it for weeks. Better that I get a chance to explain to you while you were still willing to listen."

"I don't--" Harry protested, but Neville spoke over him. "You do when it's Draco, Harry. You didn't confide in me at school the way you did Ron and Hermione, but I've got eyes, Harry. You practically stalked Draco in sixth year convinced he was up to no good"

"He was!" protested Harry. 

"Maybe then, but now he just wants to get on with his job. You've never been good at seeing that people can change. And he has, he really has. And no, I didn't tell him you would be here, for approximately the same reasons. He would have made himself sick with worrying about what you would do." Neville's face was serious. "I know there is a lot between the two of you, Harry, but Draco is not the spoiled kid he was when we were at school. He's worked hard to get where he is and you should respect that."

"I do," said Harry. "Alright, I'll try," he added, in the face of Neville's evident disbelief. Curiosity got the better of him. "How did he become a librarian?" 

"You'll have to ask him," replied Neville, sipping his tea. "Can I interest you in short game of chess before turning in?"

"It'll be a very short one," said Harry, shunting away the itch of curiosity that Neville was clearly not going to scratch. "Ron's been trying to teach me for years but he hasn't got very far. Apparently I'm too reckless with my queen and not reckless enough with my pawns."

It was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first few weeks of school whizzed by in a haze of fresh faces and lesson plans. Harry discovered his NEWT students were keen, the first-years slightly overwhelmed and that star-struck fourth year girls held a horror all of their own. Neville laughed himself nearly sick when, late in the second week of school, he discovered Harry hiding behind the door of his classroom in a attempt to avoid a posse of prowling girls armed with boxes of heart shaped chocolates.

"It's like sixth year all over again," a still laughing Neville said as he escorted Harry back to his quarters.

"Even Romilda wasn't this bad," said Harry with feeling, unnerved by the whole experience.

The other students also kept Harry firmly on his toes, albeit in a more academic sense. A few questions sent Harry diving for his own Auror training textbooks. The constant barrage and the task of settling into the rhythm of the school was overwhelming at times. Neville seemed to be taking to it all like a Hippogriff to flying but Harry found himself falling exhausted into bed every night. It might have helped had he been getting more sleep. Harry often found himself waking two or three times a night, disturbing images flitting elusively away as he opened his eyes.

All things considered, Harry was quite relieved to receive an invitation from Ron and Hermione to spend the weekend. Molly had finally prevailed upon Hermione to allow her to take Rose overnight. To celebrate her emancipation and her birthday, Ron had organised a party at the Leaky and invited Harry to stay over, on the grounds that "McGonagall will go spare if you turn up to Hogwarts drunk". After an initial demur - Harry didn't want to intrude on the new parents' first personal time in months - Harry had agreed, resolving privately to cast some extra-heavy duty silencing charms around the spare bedroom, just in case.

On Friday night of the third week back at school, Harry shrunk his small napsack of clothes, made his way off the Hogwarts' grounds and Apparated to London, appearing in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. Pushing his way through the crowds of people who apparently found the front door the most convenient place to stand, Harry headed towards the bar to place his order. Hannah smiled at him from behind the bar.

"The usual, Harry? Everyone's in the back room. Go on through, I'll send Neville in with your drink in a minute."

"Cheers, Hannah." Harry slipped through the crowd into the back room. He was greeted by the raucous cheers of a group past their first and well into subsequent drinks. 

"It's Professor Potter," yelled Dean Thomas from the corner, where he was cosily snuggled up with Ginny Weasley. From the chair opposite them, Seamus Finnegan raised a glass and gave an unintelligible shout. 

Harry gave them an absent wave and made his way to where Hermione and Ron were sitting.

"Harry," said Hermione, her face lighting up. "You came!"

"Of course I came," said Harry, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Happy birthday, Hermione. I know you didn't want presents but I couldn't resist." He fished a package out of his pocket, returned it to normal size and presented it to Hermione with a flourish. "I thought 'what to get the woman who has everything? I know, I'll get her a book.' I know how much you love books," he added, watching Hermione unwrap her present. 

Hermione burst out laughing as the wrapping fell away from book in her hand. " _Gadding with Ghouls_?" she asked, still chortling. 

"You never know when something in there might come in handy," said Harry, with a straight face. "Look, it even has an autograph. And I added some little hearts around Lockhart's name just for you."

"Where did you find that?" asked Ron, slightly less amused than his wife by Harry's trip down memory lane.

"There was a stack of them in bottom of the cupboard in my classroom when I moved in. They must have been there for years and no-one's moved them."

"I'm impressed they managed to survive the restoration of the castle," said Ron. "I thought the Hogwarts house elves cleaned every nook and cranny after the battle." 

"I've no idea why they left them, unless the house elves thought they might be used as text books again. I'll have to ask Blinken."

"Blinken?" asked Ron.

"One of the Hogwarts house elves. He's kind of adopted me. He's an interesting character, I think he would have gotten on well with Dobby. Quite an eclectic fashion taste."

"So, how are you finding teaching?" Ron hastened to ask, before Hermione could comment. "Less dangerous than being an Auror?"

"I wouldn't go that far," said Neville, depositing a round of drinks on the table in front of them. He regaled the room with the trials of Harry and the fourth year girls, while Harry buried his face in his hands. 

"Priceless," howled Dean, as Ginny clasped her face and groaned, having laughed so hard she had snorted her firewhisky out her nose. 

"What's priceless?" asked Angelina, as she and George came through the door hand-in-hand. "Sorry, we're late, Hermione," she added. "People just wouldn't leave the shop."

Ginny cast a glance at the clasped hands and directed a significant look from still-watering eyes at Hermione. 

"Neville had to rescue 'The Saviour of the Wizarding World' from a bunch of fourth years," Dean told them. George's face lit up and Harry rose rapidly to his feet. 

"I'm going to the bathroom," he muttered and beat a rapid retreat. George's loud laughter echoed down the corridor behind him.

Upon his return, he was glad to see George's attention had been diverted to more latecomers - Charlie Weasley and Oliver Wood. He shuffled back over to his seat and drained his firewhisky. Being the best possible friends, Ron and Hermione forbore to comment on his hasty retreat.

"So, how is it working out with Malfoy?" asked Ron, changing the subject not so much with a segue as a sledgehammer. "Could have knocked me down with a feather when we got your letter. I thought McGonagall must be getting senile for a minute. How in Merlin's name did Malfoy become a librarian?"

"Ask Neville - he knows, but he won't tell me. Just says that I'd have to ask Malfoy." Harry went to take a sip of his glass before realising it was empty. "It's actually working out fine. When I have to be in the library we nod politely at a distance and then ignore each other. I don't think I've said more than a few words to him all term. For some reason he never comes into the staff room so we don't have to pretend to socialise." 

"But what about the students? How do they feel about having a Death Eater handing out the library fines?" Ron persisted. "I thought Pince was scary; Malfoy's ferret face must clear them out of the library in record time."

Hermione gave her husband a smack on the arm. "The war was over a long time ago, Ronald. Draco Malfoy has done his time and made something of his life. Why keep dragging up the past?"

Harry stepped in to avoid the likely argument. "Actually, they seem to love him, especially the girls." He snickered. "And not just the girls, the portraits too. The Fat Lady keeps getting in trouble for deserting the Gryffindor entrance because she's spending all her time in the library. I've even seen Lockhart hanging around, flirting away."

"There's a portrait of Lockhart at the school?" asked Hermione.

"There must be," said Harry. "He keeps popping up all around the place. We can't get rid of him, though, 'cos no-one can work out where Lockhart stuck the actual portrait. He likes to drop into the staff room and offer little tidbits of advice to the teachers during our free periods, which goes down about as well as you would imagine. Apparently Trelawney threw a tea cup at him once. He was most indignant."

Ron's face was a mask of horror. "Lockhart was flirting with Malfoy?"

Harry grinned reminiscently. "You can't be more horrified than Malfoy was. For a minute I though he was actually going to show some expression." His grin widened. "Myrtle's the worst. She's always popping into the library to invite him to visit her bathroom. She thinks they share a deep connection."

Hermione snorted in an unladylike fashion into her shandy. "Lockhart would have more luck!" 

"Luck with what?" asked Neville, sliding into the seat next to Hermione. He passed another firewhisky to Harry. "I thought you might need this." 

"I thought you were helping Hannah," she replied.

"My services were no longer required. I'm too distracting, apparently. Luck with what?"

"Hermione thinks that Lockhart would have more luck with Malfoy than Myrtle," supplied Ron. Neville said nothing but George, who was wandering past, overheard and nodded, "Oh yeah, I can see that."

"See what?" said Dean snagging a chair opposite Ron. Ginny sat next to him and smiled at Harry. "Where's the food?" asked Dean. "Too much more alcohol and I'm going to have to cart this one home in a wheelbarrow." Ginny pinched him viciously, then stole his glass.

"Food'll be in shortly," said Neville. "Hannah's just briefing her off-sider so she can join us." 

"Hermione thinks Draco Malfoy is gay," announced George. Harry choked on his firewhiskey. 

"I didn't say that!" protested Hermione. 

"I paraphrased," amended George.

"Malfoy? He's totally gay." Dean nodded emphatically. 

"Totally?" queried Hermione with raised eyebrows.

Dean blushed. "Sorry. I've been spending too much time with my sister. It's a Muggle thing."

"Who's gay?" asked Charlie, joining the group. Oliver followed dragging a spare chair behind him.

"Draco Malfoy," said Ron.

Charlie considered for a moment. "Yes, probably."

"Malfoy's not gay," spluttered Harry. "I think I would have noticed."

"No offence, Harry," said Charlie, "but you don't have the best track record for this sort of thing."

"My track record is fine," replied Harry, stung.

"Harry, your track record is appalling," Ginny announced. "You barely notice the obvious stuff."

"I'd remind you all that I am an experienced Auror. I have excellent detection skills."

"Harry, I once cut all my hair off and dyed it brown. It took you six hours to notice," pronounced Ginny, only exaggerating slightly. She pointed a finger at Harry. "You're the last person to notice who's gay."

"Hey, I knew about Matthew Brandon," Harry said defensively. 

"But you only worked it out after he got drunk at the Auror Christmas party, dragged you to a corner and shoved his tongue down your throat," said Ginny. "That's not a subtle hint."

"I think strictly speaking Brandon counts as bi-sexual since he'll sleep with anything with genitals," added Angelina.

"How do you know that?" George asked her.

"I have my sources," she replied mysteriously.

"Did you know about Versay and Peters?" Ginny pressed her attack.

"Michael Versay and Simon Peters are gay?" asked Ron.

"Probably shagging as we speak," confirmed Ginny. 

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, miffed.

"I open my eyes, Harry," she replied. "Plus, Hannah told me that she saw them in here during the week. They were practically making out over dinner, apparently." She grinned. "She gave the men's bathroom an extra thorough clean afterwards, just in case," she added cheekily as Harry stared at her in horror. 

"Harry, are you absolutely sure you are gay?" Dean asked. "Not that I'm complaining, since your loss is definitely my gain," he added, slinging an arm around Ginny. "Just, I always thought gay guys could sense other gay guys, but you are hopeless."

"I'm not hopeless!" exclaimed Harry, privately conceding Dean might have a point. 

"Harry, your girlfriend noticed you were gay before you did," Ginny chimed in. "Worst gaydar ever." 

"Gaydar?" asked Ron.

"It's a Muggle term meaning the ability to tell if another person is gay. Gay radar, get it?"

"And your gaydar is telling you that Malfoy is gay. Despite not actually seeing him for years." Harry was frankly sceptical. 

"I thought he was a raving queen at school, if that helps," Dean answered, ignoring Hermione's scandalised exclamation. "Using that much hair gel just isn't natural. Ouch!" he added as Ginny slapped the back of his head. "I'm not the only one," he protested. "I bet Neville thinks so, too." 

"Neville wants to know what a radar is," replied Neville.

"Radar is a Muggle detection system that uses radio waves to work out where objects are."

Heads swivelled away from Hermione, at whom they had all automatically gazed, towards the unexpected voice. Seamus blushed. "What? My granfer was a radar operator during the second World War. He told me stuff." 

They all stared at him a moment longer then returned to their previous conversation.

"He's not gay," insisted Harry. 

"Whatever you say," said Ginny. She turned to Hermione. "Did you see the article in Charms Today?"

"The one about the Undetectable Extension Charms? I started reading it but Rose spilled her juice all over it."

"I'll send you my copy," promised Ginny. "It's an interesting premise, I thought you might have comments based on your own experience. We'd be happy to publish anything you wanted to send in."

The conversation moved on as Harry sipped the rest of his drink. The whole idea was ridiculous. Draco Malfoy wasn't gay. Was he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione was sitting alone at the kitchen table reading a newspaper when Harry emerged cautiously from his silent room the next morning. She smiled at him as he entered the room and gestured towards the kitchen.

"Tea's in the pot, if you'd like. Did you sleep well?"

"Like a log," answered Harry, running a hand through his more than usually dishevelled hair. "I don't think I moved from the moment my head hit the pillow."

"Good," said Hermione. "You looked like you needed it."

"Where's Ron?" asked Harry as he opened a kitchen cupboard. He found himself looking at a pile of baking supplies. "And where are the cups?" 

"Oh, I rearranged the kitchen last week. They're in the cupboard over the kettle."

"What is all this stuff?" asked Harry, eyeing off what appeared to be instruments of pastry torture. He waved a bag of steel marbles at Hermione.

"I've no idea," she answered, a trifle wearily. "Ron's taken up baking as a form of stress relief. He's at the Burrow now, getting his weekly lesson from Molly." She took a sip of tea. "She's thrilled that at least one of her children is interested in 'the traditional home-based skills'," even Hermione's air quotes looked unimpressed, "but she keeps asking me if I'm sure I don't want to learn too."

Harry snorted. "What did you say?"

"I told her that since food was so important to Ron, he should probably be the one to learn to cook it." She took a sip from her cup. "Frankly, if she'd taught him to cook in the first place, he might not have been such a shit that year."

Harry looked up from the teapot in surprise and promptly poured tea all over the bench. Hermione whipped out her wand; a muttered spell cleared the mess instantly. 

"Sorry," said Harry. Hermione didn't usually talk much about that awful year on the run.

Hermione smiled at him. "No harm done."

Harry carefully topped up his cup and went to sit next to Hermione at the table. He glanced at the newspaper in front of Hermione and was further surprised to see the pictures were static. 

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"The Times," she answered, folding the newspaper and pushing it away. "I like to keep up with the Muggle news."

"Anything interesting?"

"Not much today, but I did read a few weeks ago that Pluto isn't a planet any more."

"Really?"

"Apparently."

"Wow. I'll have to tell Professor Sinestra."

Hermione smiled. "I wrote to her about it but she said she already knew. Malfoy told her."

"That might make horoscopes a bit tricky. I can't wait to tell Trelawney," said Harry, hoping to distract Hermione for the conversation he sensed coming his way. 

It didn't work. Hermione drained her tea cup turned her chair to face Harry's. 

"Don't you think you're being a bit childish?"

"I'm not being childish, I'm just... keeping the peace."

"You're ignoring him and hoping he will go away."

"The last time I saw him he was being sentenced to two years of house arrest. What am I supposed to say, Hermione? Sorry my testimony had your father thrown in jail? So, what have you been up to since you gained your freedom? Oops, I appear to have killed your homicidal megalomaniac house guest?"

"That's what this is about?” Hermione asked with surprise. “You can't work out how to do the small talk?" She leaned back in her chair. "Thank goodness. I've had four letters from Neville so far this term, worried that you're going to challenge him to a duel on the Astronomy Tower!"

Harry saw a clear vision of a terrified Malfoy pointing his shaking wand at Dumbledore, the Dark Mark hanging overhead in the sky. He slumped over the table, head in his hands.

"It's weird," he muttered.

Hermione carefully pried Harry's head up. "What's weird?" she asked gently.

"Everything," answered Harry honestly. "Being back at Hogwarts without you and Ron; Neville being a teacher; me being a teacher; Malfoy being nice or at least quiet." He rubbed his face with his hands. "Neville and Malfoy being friends. That might be the weirdest part. He tortured Neville for years and now they are all mate-y."

"People can change," offered Hermione.

"Yeah, that's what Neville said, too. He wrote to Neville, did you know? Malfoy, I mean. He wrote apologising for making fun of him at school."

"Neville told me," said Hermione. She examined her nails for a second. "He wrote to me too, actually."

"When?" Harry demanded, shocked.

"A few years ago. He wanted to apologise for calling me a Mudblood at school. He said he had always thought I was the smartest person in the year, but that he couldn't acknowledge it when it meant everything he had been taught was wrong. He apologised for that, too."

"His aunt tortured you in the ballroom and he apologised for calling you names?" Harry asked incredulously.

"That wasn't really his fault, Harry," said Hermione fair-mindedly. "What could he have done? Bellatrix was insane."

"He could have fought, like we did," said Harry, jumping up from his seat to pace the floor. 

"How?" asked Hermione. "Voldemort was living in his house. One false move and Malfoy would have been dead. And so would his family. How would that have helped anyone?"

"I can think of a few people who wouldn't mind seeing Lucius dead," Harry muttered.

"Not everyone is you, Harry," said Hermione, standing up and moving towards him. "Malfoy did the best he could with the cards he'd been dealt. Just like the rest of us. He's worked hard since the war to make amends. I happen to know he's also written to Katie Bell. And to Luna to apologise for calling her names and hiding her stuff at school."

"But not for imprisoning her in his dungeon for months."

"That wasn't his fault, Harry.” She took his hands. “Voldemort did incredible, heart-breaking damage and I know you are still angry. But Malfoy is not Voldemort or his father; you have to stop blaming him for everything that went wrong. And you might want to consider that Malfoy suffered at Voldemort's hands as well."

"He was a Death Eater," Harry said stubbornly. 

"Yes, he was," said Hermione evenly. "And now he's a librarian. I can't help thinking that perhaps the second choice is the more interesting of the two."

"Do you know why he's a librarian?" asked Harry, admitting defeat.

"No," said Hermione, who suddenly looked as if the curiosity was going to eat her alive. "And I really want to."

"Ah, now I understand," Harry teased stiffly, trying to shake his mood. "You want me to lull him into a false sense of security so he'll spill the story."

"No. Well, yes," said Hermione. "Of course I want to hear the story. But really, I just want you to move on a bit. It's been eight years. It's time to put some of that anger and hurt away. You're not responsible for the deaths, and neither is Draco Malfoy."

"So, I should jut sweep it under the carpet," said Harry flatly, beginning to feel angry again.

"Of course not," Hermione replied. "Just stop searching for scapegoats to punish because you can't punish Voldemort."

Harry slumped onto the nearby sofa. "I hate it when you are reasonable," he grumbled. 

"You must spend a lot of time unhappy then," she teased back. "Give him a chance, Harry. There must be something there if Professor McGonagall and Neville are willing to speak for him. And it never hurts to be on the good side of a librarian!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry arrived back at Hogwarts that Sunday evening, armed with a tin of delicious jam biscuits and a promise from Ron and Hermione that they would come and help him investigate the Defence classroom for any signs of a curse. Perhaps it was a surfeit of jam biscuits that caused Harry, in the wee hours of Monday morning, to jolt awake, feeling confused and disturbed. He lay in bed for a few minutes, chasing sleep. But sleep was nowhere to be found. Harry levered himself out of bed and went to wash his face in the bathroom.

Coming back into the room, Harry's eyes fell on the stack of books he had moved out of his classroom. On the cover, Lockhart slumbered peacefully, emitting tiny snores. What the hell, he thought, picking up a copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_. He settled himself back in bed, book in hand.

> Ghouls are thought to be relatively slow creatures; dribbling dimwits who spend their time haunting attics. But I, who have travelled the world in search of fierce and fantastic beings, know better. For I have seen the ghoul in its natural habitat. I came upon a tribe deep in an Amazonian rainforest. They were initially suspicious, but were no match for the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile winner. My charming demeanour won them over in no time.

Eyes dropping already, Harry drifted off to sleep to the rhythm of Lockhart's purple prose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From high above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare." A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra." A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to ground beside him. Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead._

Harry woke in a sweat, breathing harshly, Cedric's name on his lips. He pulled himself to sit up in bed and waited for his hammering heart to calm. Absently, he groped for his book, only to remember he had finished it the night before. Letting his arm fall, he flopped back into bed and waited for sleep to come.

It didn't. Harry tossed and turned for what felt like hours, though a muttered _Tempus_ charm revealed it to have been forty-five minutes. Finally, he got up and donned his dressing gown and slippers. If a Lockhart book was needed to put him to sleep, then a Lockhart book he must have. And Harry had a pretty good idea where he could find one. He whispered “ _Lumos_ ,” and headed out his door.

The library was an eerie place in the dark; then again, it wasn't his first midnight visit. Harry made his way to the reference section, wand held high. Seeing no sign of his target, he searched magical beings, world travel and, in desperation, zoology, before finally hitting the jackpot in fiction. Passing his lit wand over the titles in front of him, Harry debated between _Holidays with Hags_ and _Voyages with Vampires_ , when the library torches unexpectedly burst into flame. 

"Can I help you with anything, Professor Potter?"

Harry briefly closed his eyes in embarrassment. Turning, he found himself being viewed coolly by a fully dressed Draco Malfoy. Gathering his dressing gown and the shreds of his dignity around him, he mustering up a fake smile. "Sorry, I couldn't sleep so came looking for something to read."

"I see. Where you looking for anything in particular?" 

Harry gestured at the shelf in front of him. "I think I've just found it, actually." There was a short silence. "But thank you," he added belatedly. 

"In that case, I shall leave you to it. Please leave me a note so I can sign the book out to you in the morning." He glanced at the pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat. "Later in the morning," he amended. He favoured Harry with the polite smile Harry had now come to expect. "Goodnight, professor."

"Goodnight," muttered Harry, feeling very much on the wrong foot. 

Malfoy turned, hesitated, then turned back. "I would recommend _Holidays with Hags_ ," he said. "I've found it very good for insomnia." This smile was more hesitant but real and Harry found himself half-smiling back. Malfoy turned on his heel and left.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but Harry was most of the way back to his room before he thought to wonder - how had Malfoy known he was there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry had first period free the next day. Ignoring the pile of marking staring reproachfully at him from his desk, Harry set out for the library, book in hand, shortly after breakfast. Reasoning that he should have the book checked out properly, he went in search of Malfoy.

Malfoy was seated behind the high front desk, sorting through a pile of returned books, apparently completely ignoring a group of ostensibly studying seventh years. As Harry watched, one of the students, Joseph Stevens if Harry judged that head of hair correctly, crept a stealthy pencil-laden hand towards a library book. Malfoy turned his head to pick up another book and Joseph took his chance. But before he could finish whatever prank he had in mind (Harry mentally put money on a sketch of Joseph's genitals, if gossip in the staff room was any indication), the pencil vanished from his hand. Finally looking up, Malfoy called over to the group. "Stevens, that's your last warning. I will see you here after breakfast on Saturday morning to help me clean the torch sconces."

"But, sir-" protested Joseph.

"No buts," said Malfoy firmly. "Now, get out of my library."

Joseph gathered his books together and sloped towards the doors, directly in front of Harry. Malfoy's eyes widened slightly when he saw Harry standing there, but he recovered quickly. Putting on his polite face, he called, "How can I help you, Professor Potter?"

Harry moved towards the desk. "I brought the book in so you could check it out to me."

"There was no need for that. A note would have sufficed."

"I forgot," said Harry. "And I thought you might need to-" He waved his wand vaguely. 

Malfoy's smile remained admirably set. "No. No wand waving is required. But thank you for your consideration."

"So," Harry leaned on the desk. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?" asked Malfoy, darting a glance at the seventh years, who were now actually studying. 

"Last night. How did you know I was in the library?"

"I'm afraid I don't know to what you are referring, Professor Potter," said Malfoy, reaching out an arm to take a book from the student who had appeared next to Harry. "Thank you, Elise."

Harry waited until Elise had rejoined her table-mates, then after a surreptitious glance around, cast a muttered _Muffliato_. He nevertheless lowered his voice. "Malfoy, it was the middle of the night and the library was deserted. How did you know I was there?"

Malfoy cast his own surreptitious look around. "Detection charm on the doorway," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. 

"Why?" asked Harry in surprise.

Malfoy cast him a look suggesting that he thought Harry was an idiot but was too polite to say so. "The students, of course. I can't have them wandering around in here with no supervision. There are dangerous books in here."

Harry was grudgingly impressed. "Good thing Madam Pince didn't think that way," he said, mostly to himself. 

"Indeed," said Malfoy. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You were the inspiration actually."

"Me?" said Harry, surprised.

"You," Malfoy confirmed. "Neville told me about some of your exploits at school. You had Granger to keep you cautious and mostly safe, but most of the kids who think it's a good idea to sneak into the library at night don't have the advantage of being best friends with the smartest person in their year. Someone needs to watch out for them."

"I see," said Harry, even more surprised. It appeared that Neville and Hermione were right. There was more to this Malfoy than Harry had previously seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Towards the end of October, Ron made good on his word, arriving one Saturday morning with his brother Bill in tow.

"Rose is sick and Hermione didn't want to leave her with Molly," explained Ron. "I brought Bill instead."

The three worked hard but by the end of the day even Harry had to admit defeat. There was no sign of a curse anywhere in the classroom or in Harry's quarters. In desperation, Harry and Ron checked the staffroom and even went to far as to investigate the kitchens, much to the dismay of the Hogwarts house elves. 

"I'm sorry I can't help any more, Harry," said Bill eventually. "I have to get home, but why don't you check the library? I've found some useful information in libraries when trying to break residential curses."

Ron grimaced sympathetically at Harry as his brother set off for the Floo in McGonagall's office. 

"You look tired, mate," he said.

"I am," said Harry, who had progressed to two nightmares a week followed by bouts of wakefulness that could only be cured by increasingly long excerpts of Lockhart's prose. "I'm having a bit of trouble sleeping. It's weird, you know. Being here where so much happened." He grinned, half-heartedly. "Don't tell Hermione. She'll think I've got PTSD, or something."

"What's PTSD?"

"Muggle thing," said Harry.

Ron shook his head. "So how's it going with Malfoy?"

"He calls me Professor Potter, which just sounds wrong. I suppose he's good with the students, he seems to be aware of the mischief makers. Whenever I see him, he smiles politely. It's a little creepy actually," complained Harry. "When we have study duty together he's takes the other side of the library; he seems to know what he's doing. But he keeps hanging around with Neville. I found them having drinks in Greenhouse Three the other night. You have to admit, it's a little odd."

"You mean he's competent and attentive and always uses your title," demanded Ron in an outraged tone. "And he has the gall to enjoy socialising with a fellow colleague. Disgraceful! I don't know how you can work under these conditions. You should complain to McGonagall."

"Bugger off," said Harry. 

"Maybe he's just trying to be nice," said Ron, reasonably. "It's been a long time."

"Don't tell me - you had a letter from him too."

"Letter? What letter?"

"Never mind. Neville and Hermione think I should try and make friends with him."

"Friends," snorted Ron. "Yeah, no problems. He accidentally poisoned your best mate, broke your nose by stepping on it and played host to your most dangerous enemy, whereas you were instrumental in having his father sent to Azkaban and nearly killed him in the girls' bathroom. Should be easy as pie."

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry, dryly. "Very helpful." 

"I'm here to help," said Ron. "I think friends might be a bit much to hope for. I'd go for excessively polite interactions with a underlying mutual disdain."

Harry grinned, then glanced at the clock. "It's almost dinner time. Do you want to stay?"

"Better not," said Ron, stretching his legs and standing. "Rose didn't sleep well last night, which means her mother didn't sleep well, and Hermione gets a bit cranky when she hasn't had eight hours."

"I remember," said Harry, standing himself. "Thanks for you help."

"No worries. Oh, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"It's a bit early, but you are coming to Christmas with us, yeah? I know Hogwarts does a fancy feast, but it wouldn't be the same without you."

Harry felt a rush of warmth towards his best friends. "Course I will."

"Excellent. Well, must be off. I'll see you next weekend?"

"Maybe. I'll owl you."

"Good-o." Ron strode down the corridor and Harry took himself off to dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By November, Harry was starting to feel that it was all coming together. He had shared several productive owls with Auror Robards, thus proving the hypothesis that distance makes the heart, or at least the boss, grow fonder. Ron's baking prowess was surging to greater heights and Harry was often the lucky recipient of the largess; much to Neville's envy, Hannah being a noted purveyor of all things alcoholic but not much chop in the kitchen. His classes were going well, even the fourth years. Maisie McDonald, self-appointed founder and head of the Harry Potter fanclub, Surrey chapter, and her friends had finally settled down following a truly humiliating incident involving Harry, McGonagall and a singing telegram wearing nothing but a loin cloth with a picture of Harry on the front. Harry had not been privileged to hear Professor McGonagall's conversation with the perpetrators but as he was no longer stalked through the corridors of Hogwarts by hormonal fourteen year olds, he was considering the whole sorry saga a win.

The curse, however, was proving problematic. Harry had begun searching the castle to no avail. Hogwarts had so many nooks and crannies, not all of which were accessible at the same time, that Harry felt he could be finished the school year before he was finished searching the first floor, let alone any of the others. Hermione had begun dropping increasingly pointed hints about the excellence of the Hogwarts library and the usefulness of a good librarian. Even Ron had suggested a bit of research probably wouldn't do any harm. 

Harry's relations with Malfoy had not progressed any further than the kind of polite regard characterised by nodding at a distance and studied avoidance of actual interaction. Harry was careful to organise his trips to the library for times when there were multiple witnesses. For his part, Malfoy was brisk and efficient in organising the exchange of Lockhart books (Harry was up to _Voyages with Vampires_ now) and, after a few doomed attempts, avoided even the smallest of small talk. The thought of having to go and ask the man for help was, to the part of Harry which would always be the sixteen year old school boy, almost inconceivable. But experience with the Aurors had taught Harry the value of pragmatism. Needs must, so Harry girded his loins and waded in.

Harry waited until the library was almost closed before going in; this being a conversation that was probably best had without witnesses. Malfoy was shooing out the last of the stragglers as Harry entered the room. Malfoy looked surprised to see him; really, Harry couldn't blame him. 

"I was hoping I could, umm, ask for your help," said Harry, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. 

Malfoy's eyebrows started to shoot up, paused mid-flight then lowered into their habitual expression of polite interest. "Of course, Professor Potter," he answered. "Please excuse me a moment then I shall be at your service." He returned to chivvying out the remaining students, before closing the doors behind them. Drawing his wand, he waved it over the doors.

"Now we shan't be disturbed," he said. At Harry's startled look, he added quickly, "Don't worry, it keeps people out, not in. You can leave at any time."

"Umm, good?" said Harry, who had now moved from uncomfortable to a touch bewildered. 

"How can I help you?"

"I should start at the beginning," said Harry, trying to settle himself into the hard library chair. "Did you ever wonder why we had so many Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers when we were at school?"

"Ahh," said Malfoy. "The curse. Professor McGonagall told me about it when she mentioned you would be working here," he added, correctly interpreting to look of surprise on Harry's face.

"McGonagall told you I'd be working here?" asked Harry.

"She did, yes."

"Right," said Harry, resolving to have a conversation about that with the good Professor, though possibly after she was no longer his employer. "So, we think there is a curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers. Dumbledore thought it had been left by Voldemort, but since it is still operating and Voldemort is well and truly dead, we need to face the possibility that it was someone else. Bill Weasley, Ron and I have checked both the classroom and my quarters but there is no sign. And frankly, curses are not really my area of expertise."

"And you are hoping that I may be able to shed some light?" asked Malfoy inscrutably.

"Yes," said Harry.

"I'm afraid if you are looking for information on..." he hesitated, stony-faced, "on Voldemort's magical abilities, I cannot help you. While I was a witness to that last year, I have no special insight into the workings of his mind."

"No," said Harry, horrified. "No, I don't mean that. I just meant that, well, you're a librarian. I thought you might be able to help me do some research. You know, since Hermione's not here." He smiled half-heartedly, hoping Malfoy would recognise the joke.

It appeared he did. "I see," he said, appearing to relax. "I apologise for my misunderstanding. Certainly I am happy to help. If you could give me, perhaps, a week? I should be able to synthesise the available literature in that time."

"Thank you," said Harry, rising to his feet, relieved the conversation was over. "A week would be fine." He had headed to the doors, eager to escape, when Malfoy's voice stopped him.

"You can ask, if you like."

"Ask?" said Harry, half-turning.

"You always were insatiably curious at school. I doubt that much has changed since then." Harry turned fully to see a faint smile on his face. "Neville told me about your conversation. I know you wonder; Granger must be beside herself. So, ask."

"No...really...it's none of my business. I...I have to go." Harry all but ran out of the room in his haste. He was safely back in his room before it occurred to him to wonder to which of his many secrets Malfoy was referring to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was with some trepidation that Harry made his way to the library the next week, in response to the note from Malfoy which Blinken had delivered earlier in the day. The house-elf had added to his ensemble a hat which appeared to be made from coffee filters. Harry smiled at the image as he walked into the library.

"Good evening, Professor Potter. I'll be just a few more moments. Won't you make your way to my office and I'll be right with you.

Harry headed in the direction of Malfoy's pointing finger. He almost walked past the tiny office, with it's discreet sign, saying “Draco Malfoy, Librarian.” Harry, who had been expecting something entirely more grandiose, was surprised.

He had barely settled himself into the chair next to the desk when Malfoy entered, bearing a tray. 

“I asked Blinken to bring us some tea. I hope that is acceptable?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Thank you.” 

“Milk?” Malfoy asked politely, jug poised over Harry's cup.

“Yes, please,” answered Harry, feeling more and more as if he might have accidentally fallen through the looking glass into Wonderland. 

Malfoy took a sip then placed his hands on the desk in front of him. "How much do you know about magical theory?"

"We looked at it in Auror training, but that was a while ago. Probably best to go back to basics," Harry admitted.

"Very well. Please stop me if I am repeating something you already know." He settled himself into his chair.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, all magic requires an object upon which it is cast. That object can be inanimate or animate, such as a person. In the case of curses, this division is significant. The research shows two types of curses - direct and indirect. Direct curses have an animate object, that is they are cast upon people, and very occasionally animals. Direct curses are triggered on casting and tend to be more immediate and more powerful than indirect curses. All the Unforgivable curses, for example, are direct. 

However, indirect curses are different. They are cast on an inanimate object. Rather than being triggered by the caster, they are triggered by something done by the victim. The simplest trigger is a touch. Many indirect curses are cast on objects of value to the caster, as a form of protection."

"The _Gemino_ and _Flagrante_ curses," said Harry, remembering the nightmare from the previous night, in which Hermione and Ron had been smothered, screaming, under a tide of burning treasure.

"Yes," said Malfoy. "They are good examples of an indirect curse. The biggest difference is perhaps the most pertinent. Direct curses are tied to the caster; kill the caster and the curse dissipates. Indirect curses are tied to the object. They can endure long after the death of the caster."

"So Voldemort could still have cast this curse."

"He could, yes. However, he must have had access to Hogwarts to have done so. Indirect curses have a limited range when being cast. He must have at least been in the same room as whatever object he cast."

"That's possible," Harry said. "Voldemort visited the school after he left. He told Dumbledore that he wanted to teach Defence but Dumbledore turned him down. Dumbledore told me that from that date he couldn't keep a Defence teacher for longer than a year." 

"Do you know where he went during that visit?"

"The headmaster's office and the Room of Requirement. But he could have gone anywhere."

"Well," Malfoy said after a moment. "You don't need to worry about the Room of Requirement."

There was an uncomfortable silence until Harry regrouped. 

"So, I need to find something that all the Defence teachers have touched?"

"Not necessarily, though touch is obviously the most common trigger for an indirect curse. It could also be a word, spoken while in the presence of the object. Very rarely, it can be a fragrance, though that seems unlikely here."

"Right," said Harry. "It does seem that I am searching for a needle in a haystack."

"I will continue my research; I may be able to find records of another curse acting in a similar manner. There is another source of information that could be of use. If we analysed the method of departure of each of the teachers, we may find a pattern. We should request their personnel records from the Headmistress." He fidgeted with the book in front of him. "We should also consider any effects the curse may be having upon you. Analyses of these effects may help us pinpoint the source of the curse."

"There aren't any effects," said Harry shortly.

"Very well," said Malfoy. "I believe that is all for this evening. I will notify you when I have done the additional analyses."

"Why are you helping me?" Harry blurted. "You keep saying 'we'. Why?"

"It's my job," said Malfoy mildly. 

"But why?" pressed Harry, suddenly overcome by the need to know. "Why is it your job? Why are you a librarian?" He managed to bite his tongue on the corollary, Why are you here?

Malfoy smiled faintly. "More tea?" he enquired politely. He poured for them both at Harry's silent nod, then sat back in his chair. 

"I suppose the simplest answer is that I love books. But the simplest answers are not always the best. I imagine you remember the aftermath of the war." Harry nodded, still mute. "My mother and I were sentenced to two years house arrest, my father to life in Azkaban."

"I tried to save her," Harry interjected. "I tried to have her sentence overturned."

Malfoy looked gratified. "I did not know that. Thank you, but in the end it would not have mattered. She would have served the two years regardless, because I was there. The Ministry searched the house for anything related to the Dark Arts. They took most of our belongings, our prized treasures even some furniture. And the books." He shivered. "They would have done better to take the walls. The evil so permeated the house that it had soaked into the very foundations."

Harry shivered too, remembering his own time in the house.

"We managed, mother and I. She spent a great deal of time gardening and I... managed. I never expected to see again the things the Ministry had taken but one day, there they were, bringing in stack after stack of boxes. They dumped them in the hall and left." He stood abruptly and turned his back to Harry. "I didn't want to face the things they represented, the person they represented really. So I left them there and Mother ignored them. Until one day I stubbed my toe of one of the boxes." He turned to face Harry again, a faint smile on his face. "I was so angry I tossed the box across the room and the books came spilling out. I picked up one, then another and started putting them back on the shelves. After the third box it seemed sensible to do it in some kind of order, so I created some categories. Then, it seemed like a good idea to know what books we had, so I created a catalogue. And some of the books needed repairing, so I did that. Almost before I knew it, I was managing a library."

He sat down again. "After my period of house arrest was finished I knew I couldn't stay in that house. I found a job in Paris, managing the magical books collection in the Louvre, then another in Rome, at the Vatican. That's where I was when I received the Headmistress' owl asking me to consider returning to Hogwarts."

"How did she know you were there?" asked Harry. 

"I don't know," he answered simply. "But I wanted to come back. I missed my mother and home. I even missed the English weather." He gestured at his face. "This skin is not meant for the Italian sun.”

Harry looked at him suspiciously. That had sounded remarkably like a joke, but from Malfoy? The man opposite him sighed.

“I know you don't trust me, Professor. I wouldn't ask you to. I'd just like to ask you to let me do my job. Part of my job is to assist the teachers in whatever matters they require assistance. Will you let me help you?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Harry, somewhat taken aback. “I mean,” he added, remembering his manners, “yes. Thank you for your assistance, Mr Malfoy. Good night.” Harry rose and left quickly, barely even noticing the 'good night' from behind him. 

He had a lot to think about. But first, to tell Hermione.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry's meetings with Malfoy soon moved from once a week to twice-weekly as they struggled to review the mountain of information they had for clues about the curse. Harry's classes had started to pick up as well, and he often found himself staring at a neat pile of scrolls a the end of a lesson wondering when he would find the time to mark them. In addition, the Quidditch season had begun and Harry found himself assisting the Gryffindor Quidditch team at their practices (Neville, despite being the Head of Gryffindor, having disclaimed any knowledge and McGonagall trying to preserve a veneer of impartiality).

If Harry had hoped that falling exhausted into bed every evening would put a stop to the nightmares, he was soon disabused of the notion. Over and over, he was forced to see some of the worst moments of his life. Worse still was the point where the nightmares started changing to show things that hadn't happened but could have. Harry watched Neville being attacked by a giant snake and Ginny's life being sucked from her while Harry lay dying of Basilisk venom. He was going through the Lockhart books at a prodigious rate; _Wandering with Werewolves_ was finished over the course of a particularly horrific week. 

Malfoy, of course, noticed the rapid turnover of library books. One evening in late November, he delicately engineered a conversation which began with an amusing anecdote about a dream involving Slughorn and a pair of chopsticks, and ended with Harry sharing every nightmare he'd experienced since the beginning of the school term. Harry, who was used to Hermione's brute force approach to eliciting confidences, found the entire experience strangely cathartic. Malfoy said little after the exchange, but at their next meeting, the usual pot of tea had been replaced by a herbal concoction, which not only smelled fantastic but actually tasted of something (Harry's sole previous experience of herbal tea having been during the summer before fourth year during Dudley's diet, when Aunt Petunia had insisted they all drink herbal tea to reduce Dudley's milk consumption). The tea did seem to lesson the frequency of the nightmares, for which Harry was profoundly grateful. 

As November moved into December, signs of Christmas sprung up around the castle. Hagrid contributed his traditional slew of Christmas trees, which Harry and Flitwick decorated one Sunday afternoon. The students, who had been a bit subdued by the grey and gloomy weather, perked up at the thought of the approaching holidays, resulting in an outbreak of pranks. Cursed mistletoe abounded, forcing it's victims to do anything from recite the Night Before Christmas, to launch into the ballet solo from The Nutcracker. Harry himself was only saved from being caught in a kissing mistletoe trap by a quick thinking Poppy Pomfrey, who pecked him briefly on the cheek, much to the disappointment of Maisie Thompson and friends who had been lurking waiting for the opportunity to 'rescue' him. Harry thought even Professor McGonagall was relieved when the last week of school began.

The night before the holidays was the Hogwarts staff Christmas party. Neville had regaled Harry with tales of previous parties. On one memorable occasion, Neville swore, McGonagall had got a bit squiffy and stood on the table, reciting suggestive medieval poems with great relish. 

Harry was late to the party, having been trying to pack for his stay with Ron and Hermione. Like Tonks, he had never mastered the household spells. He grabbed a glass of punch, wishing Flitwick a Merry Christmas, before heading off to find Neville. 

Harry found him sitting to the side, sipping his own glass. “Not mingling?” he asked.

“It's more entertaining to watch,” said Neville. “Look over there,” he added, pointing towards Professor Hope, who was trying to balance a spare cauldron on her head. Harry laughed and took a sip of his punch. 

And choked. “Good grief. What's in this?”

“Flitwick's special recipe,” said Neville. “He won't reveal its contents.”

“Well, I can understand the antics now,” said Harry, who was starting to feel light-headed from the fumes alone. His eyes wandered across to the crowd, towards Malfoy, who was trapped in a corner by a vigorously gesturing Slughorn.

"Do you know where the drive for apologies came from?"

"What apologies?" Neville followed Harry's gaze. "For goodness sake, Harry, it's a party! Put your detective instincts away for the night." 

"I'm not investigating him," Harry protested. "I'm just curious. Everyone seemed to get one except me, and I wondered why." 

Neville shot him a strange look, both knowing and amused. Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortably as if he had been caught out, but he didn't know why. 

"Have you asked him?" said Neville

"I don't really know how. I mean, what am I supposed to say? I hear you've been doling out apologies. Any insight into why I didn't get one too?"

"Have you ever apologised to him? Maybe he thought you were pretty even," suggested Neville. "All the other people he apologised to were pretty blameless, after all. You gave as good as you got."

"He broke my nose by stepping on it," Harry protested. _You nearly killed him in the girls' loo_ , added Ron's voice in his head. "Yeah, actually you might have a point," he admitted before Neville could speak. "So, do you know what started all this apologising?"

Surprisingly, Neville answered. "All I know is that it came from some Muggle book he was restoring for his father's library."

"There's a Muggle book in Lucius Malfoy's library?"

"I think it belonged to Draco's great-grandfather. He liked to collect Muggle memorabilia apparently, mainly so he could gloat about how much smarter wizards are. Draco looked through it and found a list of steps for something. One of them was about taking responsibility and making amends. It got him thinking, so he decided that he should do it too."

" _Make a list of all persons we had harmed and become willing to make amends to them_ ," boomed a voice behind them. Malfoy plopped himself between them with far less than his usual grace. "That's what it said."

The words struck a chord deep in Harry's memory. "It had a list of steps?" he repeated. 

"Yep," said Malfoy, with far less than his usual precision of language. 

"How many steps did it have?” Harry asked.

Malfoy appeared to be counting in his head. “Eleven, I think. No, twelve.”

"Did it also say something giving your life over to a higher power to restore you to sanity?" Harry guessed, grasping at whips of memory. There was something about a pamphlet one of the neighbours had given Uncle Vernon while he sat outside drinking his port one hot evening.

"Something like that," said Malfoy cheerily. "You're very clever. There was some stuff about a god that I didn't really understand. Muggles are strange," he confided, before dropping his head on Harry's shoulder. 

Harry exchanged a startled look with Neville over the top of Malfoy's head. "Umm, Malfoy? Have you been drinking the punch?"

"Nope," Malfoy exclaimed, sitting up energetically. "Firewhiskey!" He thrust his glass into the sky in celebration. 

"How many have you had?" asked Harry, fighting a smile.

Malfoy appeared to count on his fingers for a while. "Two," he announced proudly.

"Two?" said Harry.

"I don't drink very much," confided Malfoy.

"No, I think we can see that," said Harry, losing his battle against the smile. 

"You have a nice smile, Professor Potter," said Malfoy, apropos of nothing.

Harry was saved from having to answer by Neville. "Don't you think it might be time for the two of you to use your Christian names? You are colleagues after all."

Harry blinked, still blind-sided by the smile comment. He looked over at Malfoy, who now seemed almost shy as he inspected his empty glass. "Fine by me," said Harry. 

Malfoy's smile as he looked up was brilliant and free, so much that Harry wondered if he had really even seen the man smile before. 

"I'd like that," said Malfoy, err Draco. "Harry." 

Harry's stomach did a funny flip as he looked into the open grey eyes in front of his. He shook his head and looked away. 

"Why were you talking about my steps?" Draco asked.

Harry considered briefly then threw caution to the winds, hoping that Malfoy, no Draco, might not remember the conversation in the morning. "I was wondering about your criteria for apologies.”

“What criteria?” asked Malfoy. “The steps said to take responsibility for the things I'd done. So that's what I did. I said sorry to Granger,” he added earnestly. 

“I know,” said Harry. “But not to Ron for the mead thing." Harry was determined not to ask about himself.

Draco's face looked like it was trying to frown but the firewhiskey had hidden all the muscles. "What mead thing?" he asked. 

"The poisoned mead you gave Professor Slughorn," explained Harry, starting to feel awkward. Perhaps this was not the right setting for this conversation after all. 

Draco's muscles bypassed confusion and gone straight to horror. "Slughorn drank it?" he said.

"No," said Harry, confused, "Ron did. Don't you remember? He spent his seventeenth birthday in the hospital wing because of it. He nearly died."

Draco face had taken on a distinctly green tinge. "I didn't know," he said. "The Slytherins didn't pay much attention to Gryffindor gossip. We thought Brown had put him in hospital when she broke up with him." He shuddered. "We laughed about it. Thought it was funny such a tiny girl could beat up such a big guy." He whispered, as if to himself. "I poisoned someone."

"Hey, Malfoy, Draco, it's okay," said Harry, starting to get worried. "He's fine now. No harm done and all that."

Draco was paying him no attention. He stood abruptly, looking as if he might be sick. "I have to go. I.. Excuse me."

Harry stood and stared after him. "Malfoy, wait."

"Let him go, Harry," said Neville, standing behind him. 

"Shouldn't we go after him, make sure he is alright?"

"Do you think there is anything you can say to make it alright?" Neville met Harry's eyes levelly and Harry remembered all the kind things well-intentioned people had said to him. 

"No," he muttered, dropping his eyes. 

"Let him go," Neville said again. "We all have our demons to bear and this is Draco's."

Harry was in a sombre mood as he undressed for bed that night. The sick look on Draco's face floated in front of his face and he closed his eyes. He heard Draco's voice reciting his 'steps' when suddenly the memory snapped into place. Bloody hell. Wait until Hermione heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco was nowhere to be seen the next morning. Harry considered searching the castle but settled for leaving a note on the library desk wishing him a Merry Christmas. Then he shrunk his trunk, which had a small number of clothes and a large number of presents and headed for Hogsmeade to Apparate to London. He had a meeting with Auror Robards then on to Ron and Hermione's. But first, he detoured to a Muggle library to confirm the memory from the previous night. He was snickering to himself as he made his way into the Ministry.

Hermione and Ron were waiting for him when he arrived. Harry's meeting in London had become two, then three meetings, so dinner was done and Rose was in bed, but Hermione made him a snack while Ron regaled him with Auror gossip. After Harry started nodding off in his chair, Hermione began making pointed remarks about bed time. Harry grinned around his sandwich then went obediently to his room, where, against all expectations, he fell quickly and deeply asleep. 

The house was silent when he awoke. Emerging from him room, he found a note waiting on the kitchen table.

> Harry,
> 
> Ron's taken Rose to visit Molly and I've gone into Diagon Alley to do some last minute shopping. Back around lunch. Probably.
> 
> Love  
>  Hermione

Harry wandered through the silent house, not sure what to do with this unexpected spare time. Bizarrely, all he wanted to do was visit the library to check on Draco. Harry pushed this out of his mind and glanced outside. Perhaps there was time for a quick fly on his new broom. The thick snow flurrying past the windows put paid to that idea. A quick check of the wireless program showed a Celestina Warbeck marathon; that was definitely out. And while he was a reasonable cook, Harry felt that cooking was a better described as a chore, rather than a pleasure activity, Baulked of other possible past-times, he headed towards Hermione's bookshelves to see if there was anything to read. Nestled amongst the weighty tomes on the multi-dimensional space of extension charms and the sociology of house elves, Harry found a familiar looking book, the copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_ he had given Hermione for her birthday. Harry sniggered and picked up the book. It would do for a bit of light reading until Ron and Hermione got home.

Harry was woken from his light doze by the sound of someone calling his name. It appeared Lockhart's prose had struck again. Dazed and confused, he gazed blankly at the blurry figure in front of him before realising that his glasses must have fallen off. 

"Here," said Hermione's voice. Harry held out his hand and felt his glasses placed gently inside. He put them on and Hermione sprang into focus.

"Having a nap?" she asked.

"Just resting my eyes," said Harry, not entirely truthfully. 

Hermione made a sound indicative of disbelief. She sat down opposite him on another armchair. "I take it you haven't been sleeping well," she said. 

"Ron squealed, did he," said Harry, resignedly.

"He did not, in fact," said Hermione crisply. "I evaluated the evidence in front of me," she waved her hand up and down at Harry, "and came to a conclusion. But I shall certainly be having a conversation with Ron in the future."

"It's not Ron's fault. I asked him not to tell you," confessed Harry. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Too late," said Hermione with a small smile. "I'm like Molly now - I worry anyway. So, you're not sleeping. Are you anxious about something? Is it stopping you from getting to sleep? There's some research to suggest meditation can be helpful in some cases."

"I can get to sleep alright," said Harry. "It's staying asleep that's the problem. Nightmares," he added, hoping she wouldn't ask. Harry had no intention of regaling her with his subconscious' latest offering, from the night of the staff Christmas party, of a blue-faced Ron lying cold and still after drinking the poisoned mead. "Draco made me try some herbal tea that's been helping though."

"Draco?" she queried with raised eyebrows.

"Neville said it was probably time we used first names, since we work together," explained Harry, a slight flush colouring his cheeks.

Hermione looked thoughtful but let the matter drop. "How long have you been having nightmares?"

Harry thought back to the first one. "Umm, since October."

"I see." She stood up. "Lunch time, I think." She bustled off to the kitchen leaving Harry to wonder exactly what it was that she saw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed peacefully, apart from a disturbing tendency for Harry's thoughts to turn Malfoy-ward. Hermione seemed content to hold her fire so Harry employed his tried-and-tested strategy of worrying about it later.

They were all gathered around the kitchen table on Christmas Eve, watching Ron create his first gingerbread masterpiece. Rose sat happily in her high chair, merrily gumming an excess piece of biscuit. 

"Any news on the curse search?" asked Ron absently as he tested his second batch of biscuit dough, the first having been declared insufficiently spiced. 

"No answers if you that's what you are asking. We've narrowed down the search to indirect curses since the caster has died and the curse is still apparently in effect. But that's about it. We're a bit stymied by the curse trigger. Originally we thought it must be something they touched but you and I went the classroom with a fine tooth comb. It doesn't seem likely that it's an object outside the classroom or in the teacher's quarters, otherwise how would you stop other teachers from touching it. We thought perhaps it was a verbal trigger, but the same problem exists. Draco's spending the holidays researching combination triggers to see if there is something in there that will help us identify what the curse might be. If we can find the type of curse, that might help us find the object. I'll be going over the personnel records again but I can't looking back I can't see anything they had in common. And that's just the teachers I know about; the curse was active for at least a decade before we started school." He frowned. "Frankly it's hard to see two people with less in common than Umbridge and Lupin."

"You and Malfoy?" suggested Ron.

"Do you think he'd be willing to share his research?" asked Hermione, looking typically thrilled by the opportunity to learn something new. 

"Probably," said Harry. "I'll ask if you like."

"Speaking of Malfoy," said Ron. "Are you responsible for the owl I got a few days ago? Apologising for nearly killing me by accident."

"He wrote?" asked Harry, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

"He did. Took a while, but better late than never, I guess.” Ron melted the butter with a muttered charm and mixed it into the dough. “He said he would have written earlier but he didn't know. Which just goes to show the Slytherins really had no idea what was going on outside their dungeons."

"He didn't know," said Harry. "You should have seen his face when he found out. I thought he was going to be sick."

"Good," said Ron, looking gratified. "Pass that ground ginger, will you?"

Harry remembered something else from that night. "I found out the reason for the apologies."

"Oh yes?" said Hermione, looking eager.

"Alcoholics Anonymous."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Draco was reading an old book of his great-grandfather's which included twelve steps to personal recovery. He was... inspired."

"Draco Malfoy was set on the path of integrity and probity by a Muggle book espousing the tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous?" Hermione was incredulous.

"Yep," said Harry, grinning.

Hermione stared at him for a moment then burst out laughing. She laughed so hard and so long that she almost fell off her chair. "Priceless!" she snorted. "Did he find God at the same time?"

Harry had a brief image of Draco as the televangelist from his childhood, who Aunt Petunia had liked to watch on daytime television. (Aunt Petunia had not been particularly religious; she had enjoyed the show because the televangelist had disapproved of the same people she disapproved of). He snorted, causing Hermione to laugh again; the two howled with laughter while Rose looked on benevolently and Ron completely ignored them. 

Finally Hermione sat back, wiping her eyes. "Oh, that's brilliant," she said. 

"I know," said Harry, wiping tear streaked cheeks. "It is pretty impressive though. It's a big step to take for someone who was taught never to surrender, let alone apologise." 

"Indeed," said Hermione with a disturbingly knowing smile. 

"All right, enough frivolity," announced Ron suddenly. “I have work to do, so will you people kindly bugger off!"

Christmas was a quiet affair. It was an 'off' year; Fleur and Bill had taken the children to France, while Charlie and Oliver were visiting the Woods. Molly and Arthur finally acquiesced to the Delacourt's repeated invitations to visit, deciding to spend the holidays with Bill and Fleur in France. So it was George, Angelina, Ginny and Dean over for Christmas dinner. The occasion was enlivened by George's latest invention, the fake Christmas turkey which squawked and flew around the room when Ron tried to carve it, much to Rose's amusement. 

Harry found himself sitting next to Ginny on the couch as the day turned to evening, watching George trying to coach Dean in a game of chess with Ron. 

"This can't go well," said Ginny.

"I wouldn't have thought so," replied Harry. He gave her a nudge. "How is it going with you two?" 

"Good," said Ginny with a soft smile. "We are going apartment hunting after Christmas."

"You're moving in together?"

"Yeah. I'm there all the time anyway. I think it's getting a bit much for Seamus."

"That's great, Gin," said Harry. "I just want you to be happy, you know."

"I am," she said. "Are you?"

"Me?" asked Harry." Yeah, of course."

Ginny snorted. "You can't lie to me, Harry Potter." She smiled a little sadly. "I know how much you wanted your happy ending and that just didn't happen. I didn't tell you before but I am sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Gin. You're not the one who turned out to be gay."

"I know," she said, turning her smile towards him. "I'm still sorry we didn't work out. I just want you to be happy, too."

"I will," said Harry. Inexplicably his thoughts drifted towards Draco, wondering what he was doing on Christmas night.

"Time for bed," Ginny announced. "Harry's starting to drift off."

"Am not," protested Harry, but Dean was only too happy to escape the thrashing which was immanent. The general melee of coat finding and good-bye hugs ensued. Harry watched as Ron and Hermione saw their guests to the Floo, waving goodbye, and felt a pain in his heart. Ginny was right, he wanted that too. He shook himself. Or perhaps it was just heartburn. Harry shrugged off the philosophical moment and took himself off to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione bailed him up the day before he was due to return to Hogwarts where he was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying an article of the mating habits of the Blibbering Humdinger in the Quibbler. Luna had developed an impressive turn of phrase, he thought.

Hermione wasted no time on subtleties. "Harry, I think you have been cursed."

"I beg your pardon?" said Harry. 

Hermione plunged on. "Have you had any nightmares while you are been here?"

"No," said Harry, who had discovered that very morning that the bags under his eyes had almost disappeared. 

"Exactly," said Hermione, excitedly. "I think the curse is causing your nightmares."

"Really?" asked Harry redundantly.

"Yes," replied Hermione. "It fits all the facts. You only started having nightmares after you'd become the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and you only get them while you are physically at the school."

"But why nightmares?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, deflating slightly. "There seems no reason for it. Though I imagine after a year of nightmares anyone would be keen to leave, so it's certainly effective."

"That's true," said Harry with feeling. "I should owl Draco and let him know. He should factor your theory into his research."

"I'm glad you're getting on better with him," said Hermione, her smug smile fairly radiating a sense of I Told You So. 

"He's been really helpful researching the curse." Harry smiled "I think you two would get on pretty well, actually. He needs to know the answers, even to the most obscure questions. Did you know the Wolfsbane potion was discovered by accident? The inventor was actually trying to invent a safer sleeping potion but accidentally added aconite instead of asphodel." 

"Mmm," said Hermione.

"He's a bit different, but I'm starting to understand why Neville likes him. It's like solving a puzzle trying to work out what he's thinking but then sometimes he'll come out with an absolute clanger." Harry grinned. "You should have heard what he said the other day. We were-"

Harry was interrupted by a rhythmic banging noise coming from the kitchen. He looked over to see Ron banging his head against a kitchen cupboard. "Please," he moaned. "Make it stop."

"Make what stop?" asked Harry. 

"I can't handle it any more. Honestly, the levels of pining around this house have reached critical point. It's like living with a thirteen-year-old Ginny again." Ron pitched his voice an octave higher. "He never notices me. I feel like he just looks through me. I just want to be his friend."

Harry sent a confused look to Hermione. "You want to be who's friend?"

"Not me, Harry, you!" Ron exclaimed. "Have you not noticed what you are doing?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," averred Harry, starting to feel nervous.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry, it's so obvious. Do you really need me to point it out?" said Ron. He turned to Hermione. "And I'm the one who's supposed to have the emotional range of a teaspoon." 

"What do you think of the Cannon's chances this year?" asked Harry in a desperate attempt to change the subject. 

Sadly, this previously failsafe method failed. "You really have no idea, do you?" asked Ron, rhetorically, his face deadly serious. "Harry, I hate to be the one to tell you this," he said, "but I think you might have a crush on Draco Malfoy." 

Harry inhaled involuntarily, in unfortunately close proximity to his tea. Emerging from his cup coughing and spluttering, he fought for breath before protesting vehemently. "I don't have a crush on Draco Malfoy!"

"Well, you are doing an awfully good impression of one."

Hermione was uncharacteristically tentative. "You do seem quite interested, Harry."

"As a friend," exclaimed Harry. "I want to be his friend. Like Neville."

Ron snorted. "I don't think Neville wants to be his friend quite the way you do." He looked at Harry. "I never thought I would be the one to say this, but I think the time has come. Please, for the love of Merlin, just ask him out. I'm begging you to put me out of my misery."

Harry could feel the blood run out of his cheeks. "Ask him out?" he spluttered. "I don't want to ask him out. I've barely started using his first name."

"You've known him for years," said Ron. "He's gay, you're gay, you're both single. Ask him out or I won't be responsible for my actions."

"He's not gay!" said Harry.

"He is," said Hermione.

"How do you know?" replied Harry, rather rudely.

"Pansy told me."

"Pansy who?"

"Pansy Parkinson," said Hermione, determinedly meeting Harry's eyes. "We've become friends."

Harry's mind clicked into gear. "Your friend with the house elves," he exclaimed. 

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, shifting in her chair. "We were in the same antenatal class; she has a daughter a couple of weeks younger than Rose. At first it was excruciating, but I realised that if I could forgive Malfoy, then I could forgive Pansy too."

"She tried to sell me out to Voldemort," Harry protested. 

"She was seventeen, scared and she'd been taught only to look after her own skin."

"Did you know about this?" Harry demanded of Ron.

"I found out when Hermione had her mother's group over for morning tea one day. It was quite the shock, I can assure you."

"You can't tell me you are still holding a grudge," said Hermione.

"Not really," admitted Harry, letting the righteous anger drain away. "It's just... can this year get any weirder? I'm under a dead man's curse, you're friends with Pansy Parkinson and Ron is trying to set me up with Draco Malfoy."

"That's one of the perks of being a grown up," said Ron. "We all get to move on and make new friends." He held out a spoon. "Do you think this curd needs more lemon?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry had barely reached the door of his quarters when he heard a voice calling his name. He turned to see Draco flying down the corridor, blond hair bouncing with every step, his face alight with excitement. As he watched, Harry distinctly felt his heart turn over in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment in dismay. Ron was right and Harry was doomed.

Draco had come to the same conclusion as Hermione over the holiday, which he had been hurrying to share with Harry. He appeared unsurprised to learn that Hermione had beat him to the punch. When Harry tentatively suggested sharing their research with Hermione, he readily agreed. A flourishing correspondence ensued, in the presence of Ron and Hermione's owl, Iris, in the school owlery was any indication. 

Hermione insisted that Harry should spend his weekends away from school. As January progressed, Harry was only too glad to acquiesce. The nightmares increased in intensity and frequency, leaving Harry exhausted and irritable. Their focus had also changed; to Draco. Night after night, Harry was forced to watch Draco die a gruesome array of deaths, from falling to the Fiendfyre, being mauled by Greyback or trampled by giants, to being savaged by an enormous flobberworm (which may, Harry conceded afterwards, have been more related to indigestion from one of Ron's less successful baking attempts). 

Harry soon found another reason to be glad for the escape. As they moved into February, the castle was awash with pink. Hearts and cupids were liberally strewn through the castle. Keen to avoid a repeat of the singing telegram incident, Harry was pleased to find that Valentine's Day fell on a Saturday. He wondered, then chastised himself for wondering, if he had just imagined the brief look of disappointment when he mentioned to Draco he had a date for the night. Before he could clarify, Draco had disappeared.

His hot date was in fact anything but. He had offered to babysit Rose for the night so Ron and Hermione could have a night out. Harry and his date enjoyed a dinner of shepherd's pie followed by banana custard, then an entirely necessary bath for Rose, who proceeded to demonstrate the theory of water displacement did not adequately take baby splashing into account. Harry retired for the night shortly after Rose, reflecting that he was well on the way to old-fogeydom and trying not to imagine what Draco might be up to. 

Having removed the sound proofing from his room the previous night, Harry was woken in the morning by the sound a baby chattering. He levered himself out of bed and went to fetch his god-daughter, hoping to give her parents a sleep in. 

He was successful. He and Rose had breakfast (tea and toast for Harry, miscellaneous cereal goo for Rose), got dressed, read three books and had embarked on an apparently hilarious game of hide and seek before Hermione emerged. Rose, demonstrating both an impressive turn of speed and read of the power structure, promptly abandoned Harry on the floor with a cushion on his face, toddling to her mother for a cuddle. Harry got to his feet and went to boil the kettle. 

"Good morning, gorgeous girl," said Hermione, picking her daughter up and kissing her on the cheek. Rose squealed with delight. "Morning, Harry."

"Morning," Harry replied, emptying the teapot. "Good night?" 

"Fabulous," said Hermione. "It's been ages since we've had a chance to go out." Rose wiggled to be let down. Hermione let her down, steadying her until she toddle off in search of more interesting companions, then slumped into a kitchen chair.

"I can't believe she's nearly one," said Harry. 

"I know. Ron's in a bit of denial." Hermione took a sip of her tea. "I sent out the invitations to her party the other day. Yours is in the desk," she added, waving her hand vaguely in that general direction.

"I'll have to check my calendar," said Harry. Hermione waved her hand at him in such a way as to indicate the appearance of a rude gesture and took another sip.

"I sent an invitation to Draco as well," said Hermione, not even pretending to look casual. Harry choked on his tea.

"You did? Umm, that's... nice?"

"I didn't do it for you," she replied with a small smile. "At least, not entirely. I thought it might make Pansy feel more comfortable to have another friend." Harry paused to reflect, not for the first time, on his friend's forgiveness and grace. 

"How did Ron feel about that?"

Hermione snorted. "He wasn't enormously impressed until I reminded him that Draco was pretty good at Quidditch."

Harry grinned." Ah. Yes, I can see how that might be an inducement."

The idea of an inaugural Weasleys versus the world Quidditch game had been Charlie's but Ron had taken to it with the enthusiasm of a devotee. Hermione had rolled her eyes and quietly predicted to Harry that nothing would come of it, given Ron's inability to organise himself out of a paper bag. Unfortunately, and uncharacteristically, she had drastically underestimated Ron's motivation for all things Quidditch. 

"I believe his exact words were 'at least the git won't be on my team.'"

Harry laughed. "More fool him. Draco was a pretty fair Seeker when we were at school. I would never have admitted it at the time, but he nearly had me a couple of times." Hermione stifled a laugh and Harry reviewed his previous statement. "In the game! Honestly, Hermione, you're as bad as Neville!"

Hermione smiled. "How is Neville? I had lunch with Hannah last week. She said that he seems to be enjoying himself."

"He loves it. I've never seen him happier, to be honest. I never really thought about it at the time - he seemed happy enough in the Aurors - but I'm beginning to think he never really liked it. That is was just something that he thought had to be done, you know?"

"And what about you? Do you feel the same way?"

Harry looked down at his mug of tea. "Of course not. I love my job. It's all I've ever wanted." Sadly, his voice sounded unconvincing, even to himself.

"Really? Because I have been thinking about it, and I'm not sure you are happy either."

Harry cast her a swift glance before refocusing on his mug of tea. Hermione's face held that fond, mildly exasperated, look he had come to associate with occasions when she thought he or Ron were being particularly obtuse. Harry took a deep breath and prepared to give up the last of his secrets to his annoyingly perceptive best friend.

"It's just... Do you ever feel like your life isn't quite what you expected? Of course not. You have Ron and Rose and your job to go back to. Though you are friends with Pansy Parkinson; I'm guessing that wasn't in the life plan. But you've got your little house and a family and I'm really pleased for the two of you, I am, but I thought that..."

"You thought you'd have that yourself?"

"It's what's supposed to happen, isn't it? The 'hero' marries his childhood sweetheart and settles down into his dream job, has three children and a house with a white picket fence. Instead, I have no wife or children, just this job."

"And it's not what you expected?"

"It was. To start with. I knew it would be hard work and long hours. And I really don't mind those bits. I felt like I was doing some good. Protecting the innocent. But it never seems to end. There's no point where I can go home and say, 'well, that's all finished then'. People keep doing stupid, selfish, greedy things. By the time we get involved, it's too late - someone's already been hurt or killed. Someone should be paying better attention at the start, before it gets bad. If Voldemort had been stopped after his first crime, he could never have gotten so powerful."

"Do you want to leave?"

Harry shrugged. "And do what?"

"Ask Professor McGonagall to keep you on at the end of the year."

Harry laughed bitterly. "She won't be able to at this rate. I still have no idea what this curse is or how to stop it. Fine job I'm doing."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by an infuriated squeal from the lounge room. Harry pulled himself together and attempted a smile. The frown on Hermione's face suggested he was not entirely successful.

"Sounds like Rose needs some attention. I should let you get on with it. I have to head back early anyway. I have a pile of marking four feet high. Why I ever thought setting essays for the first third years and the fourth years at the same time was a good idea, I'll never know! Tell Ron I said hi, yeah?"

"Harry, wait."

Still avoiding Hermione's too knowing eyes, Harry shook his head. "Not now, Hermione. Just... I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Okay," she said gently. "I'm here if you need to talk."

Eyes unaccountably stinging, Harry flashed her a brief smile and Disapparated. 

He appeared in front of the The Three Broomsticks. Through the window he could see people laughing and chatting. It looked cosy and warm, and yet he turned his back and walked through the village back to Hogwarts.

He hadn't told Hermione the whole of it. About the sick feeling in his stomach when, even eight years after the war, people looked at his Auror robes and were scared. The way so many of the wizard-born children in the school hadn't even known what the Aurors were supposed to do. The times he had heard parents admonishing their children with threats that the Aurors would take them away if they misbehaved again. The Ministry had never truly acknowledged that it had fallen to Voldemort from the inside, and Harry thought the poison of the association still lingered. 

They were too isolated in London to fix it. Too isolated from the community and too close to the Ministry. Harry had heard Hermione railing against the lack of separation between the law enforcement arm of the Ministry and judiciary. With no standing army in the Wizarding world, the Aurors fulfilled multiple roles. But did they do them well? Harry was beginning to suspect not. 

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he was surprised to see doors to the castle looming in front of him. He shook his head, dislodging a light dusting of snow, and headed for his quarters. He might as well use this time profitably and he hadn't been lying about the size of the stack of parchment on his desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four hours later he emerged victorious from the pile, vowing never again to set the fourth years an essay on the uses of the _Expelliarmus_ charm. A number of girls had taken the opportunity promote it's use as 'the Saviour's signature spell' and one enterprising young man had written an ode to the defeat of Voldemort in iambic pentameter. Harry further vowed never to tell Ron. Or Neville.

Harry stretched cramped muscles and wondered what to do next. With an hour still until dinner, he had too much time to sit around and not enough to do anything useful. Feeling disinclined towards another session of melancholic brooding, he cast his eyes around the room. They landed on _Travels with Trolls_ , lying next to his favourite chair, where he had left it in the early hours of the morning. 

_I really should return this to the library_ , he thought. Reasoning that he could borrow the next in the series, and resolutely not considering who else he might find in the library, Harry seized the book and almost ran out the door. 

In the library, Draco was nowhere to be seen. Tossing the book on the book return trolley, Harry went looking for him. Having had no sight of him in the stacks or the back room, Harry checked his office to no avail. Abandoning all pretence, he set off through the castle, finally tracking him down in Greenhouse Three, where he was evidently enjoying a quiet drink with Neville. Draco was telling a story involving either much magnificence or something enormous, if the hand gestures were to be believed. His face was alight with expression and his grey eyes were bright. 

Leaning on the door jamb, Harry took a moment to enjoy the view. His heart gave a silly flop at this unusual display of exuberance. _Happy is a good look for Draco_ , he thought fondly, before shaking himself. Really, he needed to get better control of his wayward mind. 

The movement caught Draco's attention and he looked up. Spotting Harry leaning on the door frame, Draco waved a piece of parchment at him. 

"Is this your doing?" he demanded.

"No idea," Harry replied, smiling at him. "You'll have to tell me what it is." 

"Hermione Granger has invited me to her daughter's first birthday! Me. To her daughter's birthday party. Granger!"

"Actually, it's Weasley now," said Harry mildly, hiding his unholy glee at the sight in front of him. A flustered Draco Malfoy was a rare experience indeed. 

"What did you say to her?"

"Nothing," Harry protested. "She knows you are helping me, she knows you are friends with me and Neville, and she wanted to invite you. She's really enjoyed reading about your research. Plus," he added, "it'll make Pansy more comfortable."

"Pansy who?" asked Draco, with narrowed eyes.

"Parkinson. Or Nott, I think. Is that who she married? I can't remember. You know. Pansy, short dark hair, pug nose, hung upon your every word as school."

"And why would my Pansy be at this particular function?" asked Draco, eyes narrowing further with suspicion. 

"Well, they're friends," said Harry. "Hermione and Parkinson. Nott. Whatever. They met at some mother's group and decided to bury the hatchet."

"How very adult of them," said Draco, whose eyes were now so narrowed they were almost slits. "If you'll excuse me," he said, rising. "I have an owl to send to an old friend. 

"Wait," said Harry, panicking slightly that his Draco time might be over so soon. "Are you going to come to the party?"

"Probably not. I can't imagine your Ron will want a Malfoy anywhere near his precious daughter. I'll send a gift instead."

"Ron's all for it, actually." Harry kept his face as straight as he could, though the corner of his mouth twitched. 

"Pull the other one, Potter," said Draco, dryly. "It's got bells on."

"No, really," protested Harry, laughter bubbling up. "He needs you."

Thankfully Neville intervened before Harry laughed in Draco's incredulous face. "Is this about the Quidditch game?"

"What Quidditch game?" demanded Draco. 

"Charlie's convinced Ron to celebrate Rose's birthday with Quidditch. They are calling it the First Annual Weasley versus the World game. We're playing six-a-side."

"And Weasley needs me to even up the teams?"

"Yes, or otherwise Percy will squirm out of it."

"Well, as long as there is an ulterior motive. That kind of behaviour a Slytherin can appreciate."

"So you'll come?" asked Harry eagerly. 

"It seems so," Draco answered, sending him a smile. "Now, I must go and send a message to Madam Pansy about what an appalling breach of etiquette it is to be caught hiding new acquaintances from old friends." 

Harry watched Draco toss down the last of his drink and saunter out the door. 

"When are you going to tell him?" asked Neville.

"Tell him what?" replied Harry absently, gaze still firmly on Draco's backside as he rounded the corner. 

"That you're head-over-heels for him."

That got Harry's attention. "I'm not!" he protested. "We're just friends."

"Harry, you were watching his arse and drooling," said Neville, dryly, then laughed as Harry reflexively checked his mouth. 

"Bastard," said Harry.

"It's okay, you know," said Neville, after a short silence. "No-one would mind."

"That's very big of you, Nev," said Harry, equally dryly. "Thanks."

Neville threw a random seed pod at Harry's head. It missed, and hit the floor, causing miniature daisies to spring up in a carpet where it fell. "You know what I mean," he said.

"That's not what I'm worried about," said Harry. Neville made an encouraging sound. "He belongs here and I'll be back in London in a few months. Can long distance relationships really work?"

"It seems to be going fine for me," said Neville mildly.

"But you and Hannah had been together for ages," argued Harry. "You already knew each other."

"And you know Draco," said Neville. "You've known him since you were eleven - the boy he was then and the man he is now. Think about it, Harry. What have you got to lose?" 

"My self-esteem? His friendship? My heart?"

"Bah!" said Neville, eloquently. "Go for it, Harry. Be a Gryffindor. Go forth and conquer."

With that, Neville slipped his arm through Harry's and dragged him down towards to castle to conquer some dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day of Rose's birthday party-cum-Quidditch match dawned bright and clear at Hogwarts. Harry only hoped that the same could be said of wherever they were going. Oliver had offered Ron the use of the Puddlemere United practice pitch and, in a display of truly impressive diplomacy, Ron had not only secured Hermione's agreement to the match but also to moving the entire party to the Quidditch pitch. Harry could only reflect that Ron's skills were wasted as an Auror as he could clearly more profitably be spending his time negotiating world peace.

Hermione had provided a Portkey, so after a substantial breakfast in Neville's case, and a stomach-calming tea and toast for Harry and Draco, they made their way of the school grounds. Harry drew the Portkey out of his pocket and enlarged it. He had laughed when he'd realised Hermione had used her birthday present as the Portkey, and had sent her an owl, saying simply "I told you it would be useful". They gathered around the book, Harry trying not to notice the way Lockhart smiled charmingly at Draco, and waited for the characteristic pull of the spell. 

The Portkey dropped them in the middle of a Quidditch pitch. Off to the side of the pitch, Harry could see Hermione had set up tables of food surrounded by comfortable-looking armchairs set into cosy groups. Hanging from two tall poles was an enormous sign, saying "Happy Birthday Rose". Under this sign hung a second proclaiming a welcome to the first annual Weasley's versus the World Quidditch match.

From the number of people milling about the food tables, it appeared that most of the party had already arrived. As Harry made his way over, he could see Molly Weasley, who had appropriated the birthday girl, chatting with Andromeda Tonks, while Teddy played hide-and-see with Bill's daughter Victoire. Arthur Weasley had cornered Dean Thomas and was quizzing him, possibly about the purpose of a rubber duck. 

The Weasleys had created a uniform of sorts, bright red jumpers the exact shade of their familial hair with their names written in bold yellow letters across the back. Percy pulled nervously at the collar of his jumper with one hand, while holding tight to the hand of his new girlfriend with the other. Harry hoped for Percy's sake that he would at least manage to stay on his broom for the entire game. George and Seamus were arguing over team handicaps - George declaring that the World team should have a handicap, since the Weasleys had Percy, and Seamus vehemently asserting that having three Gryffindor ex-team captains _was_ a handicap. 

That claim turned out to be widely exaggerated. Oliver assumed the mantle of team captain, entirely without consultation, if the slight shake of Angelina's head at what Harry fondly hoped to be a single, interrogative, raised eyebrow was an indication. The amused look on her face suggested that Harry's hopes were not substantiated, and he vowed to spend more time in front of the mirror practising. 

"Right, the playing positions seem pretty clear," said Oliver. "I'm Keeper, Angelina and Thomas, you're Chasers. Harry, you're Seeker. Sorry, Malfoy."

"Only to be expected," said Draco with a smile.

"You and Finnegan are the Beaters," Oliver told him. "Think you can handle that? I know it's not your natural position."

"I think I can manage," Draco replied. 

"Good man," said Oliver, slapping him on the shoulder causing Draco to stagger slightly. "Right. Let's do this."

"What? No inspiring speech before battle?" asked George, who had sidled up behind Harry without him noticing. "Let me help." He assumed a heroic pose. "Okay, men."

"And women," interjected Angelina.

"This is it," said George.

"The big one," Angelina agreed.

"The one we've all been waiting for," added Harry. 

"Shut up, the lot of you," said Oliver, while the rest of the team laughed. "Are you ready?" he asked George. 

"Ready when you are."

The team tramped over to where a strange man was chatting to Arthur Weasley and Lee Jordan. Oliver shook hands with the man, and introduced him as Benjy Williams, Puddlemere Seeker and volunteer referee for the match, all invitees to the party having been deemed too partisan or lacking sufficient knowledge (or, in a number of cases, interest). Williams was a pleasant-faced man in his early thirties. Harry watched as his eyes automatically flicked up to Harry's forehead, then sideways to look Draco up and down. He was preparing to step forward and interrupt Williams' view when Charlie Weasley came over to shake Harry's hand before the match and wish him luck. Harry was extremely impressed to see, out of the corner of his eye, George doing the same with Draco. Ginny kissed Dean on the cheek and informed him that she planned on wiping the floor with him. 

"Players, mount your brooms." 

Harry swung his leg over his broom. Though his Firebolt was one of his most treasured possessions, Harry had last year succumbed to the temptation of the LightningStrike 2100. With all the time commitments of the school year, Harry had not had many chances to ride his broom and he was looking forward to the opportunity for some good flying. Not showing off, he told himself firmly. 

Harry followed Oliver into the air. The teams spread out in the traditional formation, Harry and Charlie circling above them. Benjy Williams blew his whistle and both teams exploded into action. Harry had never seen the older Weasley brothers play. It was soon apparent that years of backyard matches had left them a far more coordinated team than their opponents. Even Percy swung his beater's bat with aplomb, making a lie of George's predictions of doom. In the goal, Ron's increased confidence showed, as he pushed away goal after goal. Marriage and fatherhood had been good for him, Harry thought absently. 

His own were far from unskilled. Oliver's years of professional Quidditch put them in a good position in goal, while Angelina and Dean, after a rocky start, had settled into a verbal shorthand as they fluidly passed the ball. Draco wielded his bat with deadly precision, several times forcing Bill Weasley to veer abruptly off-course to avoid being hit. Harry watched as Draco interposed himself between the Angelina and the Bludger and hit it straight towards the goal. Ron dived, expecting the Quaffle and Angelina took the opportunity to score. Draco grinned as Angelina punched the air triumphantly, and Harry's felt himself fall just a little more in love. 

"HARRY!" screamed Oliver. "PAY ATTENTION! You're supposed to be watching THE SNITCH!"

Guiltily, Harry looked around. Charlie was still looping lazy circles above the stadium but as Harry watched he suddenly dived headlong down the stadium. Harry dived across the pitch, desperately willing his broom to catch up. If he lost this game because he'd been ogling Draco Malfoy, Ron would never let him forget it. Harry threw himself flat on his broom, trying to create as little wind resistance as possible. He could see the Snitch, racing just ahead of speeding Charlie's broom. Just as Charlie was almost in reach, the Snitch dodged left. Harry threw his broom to the side and reached out his hand. As if it had been summoned, the Snitch slide into his hand. Harry slammed his fingers closed, then abruptly wheeled his broom further left to avoid Charlie's much less manoeuvrable broom. His last thought before the rest of the team descended on him was the slightly ignoble realisation that now he had a real reason to hug Draco.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry watched as Draco and Neville conversed across the pitch. Draco's hair shone in the weak sunlight and the breeze made it dance. Neville was waving his arms enthusiastically, describing what looked to be a 6 foot octopus. As Harry watched, Draco tilted his chin up and laughed, and Harry's knees momentarily buckled at the sight. Without any conscious volition, Harry started to move towards them.

And ran straight into Pansy Parkinson.

Or Pansy Nott, Harry supposed. Either way, he should probably say something as the silence dragged on.

"Er, hello, Pansy." Not the most original of lines, Harry thought, but it had the advantage of at least being polite. 

"Hello, Potter," she replied blandly.

Another small silence ensued as he cast desperately for something to say. His eyes alighted on the decidedly Muggle pram at Pansy's side. His eyebrows shot up involuntarily.

"Draco told me I should apologise to you. For the whole handing-you-over-to-Voldemort thing."

Harry's eyebrows climbed higher. "Draco told you to apologise to me?"

"Yes."

"When?" he asked, reflecting that Draco had always seemed so keen to keep the past in the past.

"1999," she replied.

"1999?"

"Give or take a year," she added with a slight smile. 

Harry was silent for a moment. "It's important not to rush these things," he finally managed.

"My thoughts as well," she said, before favouring him with a larger smile. 

A wriggle from the pram caught her attention and she bent over, fussing with some straps, before finally emerging with a small, black-haired child. She settled the child on her hip and turned back to Harry.

"This is Marigold," she said, with a smile so reminiscent of Hermione with Rose that Harry felt himself start to relax. Slytherin women might be the great unknown but he knew where he was with a besotted mother. Harry leaned in to tickle a tiny pink cheek. 

"Hi Marigold," he said softly. "I'm Harry."

Marigold made a spirited grab for Harry's glasses but was foiled by Harry's Rose-trained reflexes. He laughed and gently grabbed the waving hand, giving it a soft shake.

"How do you do, young lady," he said. 

Pansy smiled properly at him for the first time. "She likes you."

Harry laughed again. "She likes my glasses. They're Rose's favourite thing about me as well."

He caught a flash of blond hair out of the corner of his eye and turned slightly to watch. Ron had joined the conversation and was laughing as Neville and Draco demonstrated what appeared to be the mating dance of the giant squid. 

"He's a good person, you know."

Flushing slightly at having been caught with his attention wandering, Harry turned back to Pansy. 

"I know," he said softly.

"Better than me, at any rate," Pansy continued as if he hadn't spoken. "He apologised without being told."

 _Not to me_ , Harry wanted to say. _To everyone else, but not me._

"I tell you this, so you recognise that I'm really not a very nice person."

Harry's attention wandered of its own volition back towards the group again. Behind him, Pansy was still talking.

"So, you should know that Draco is very important to me. And if I found out that Draco had been hurt, in any way-" 

Draco turned and smiled when he saw Harry looking at him. Harry's answering smile was warm and entirely involuntary.

Draco turned back towards Ron and Neville. With their eye contact broken, Harry became aware the Pansy had stopped speaking. His colour rose with his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Pansy," he apologised as he turned. "You were saying?"

Pansy was looking at him with a very strange look on her face - part speculation, part surprise tinged with awe.

"Never mind," she said. "It turns out it wasn't necessary after all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As exams approached, the stress levels in the castle rose dramatically. The OWL and NEWT students haunted the library, the more studious revising their notes and the others trying to learn an entire year's syllabus in a few weeks. Even the younger students were affected. Harry had to send a group of second years to visit Madam Pomfrey after they became hysterical in class. Surprisingly, even Draco's famously even temperament frayed as he struggled to maintain library services and continue to research the curse. He had moved to ancient civilisations having found nothing helpful in modern texts.

The exam period came and went. On the second last Friday night of term Harry and Draco sat alone in the library, surrounded by piles of books, the students having deserted the place in favour of end-of-exam parties in their common rooms. Draco was methodically searching through each, while Harry deployed all the Auror research spells he knew, searching of one keyword then another. 

"Nothing," he announced, flatly. 

Draco looked up from his pile. "There must be something, we just aren't asking the right questions. What are we missing?" His tone was matter-of-fact but Harry could hear the undercurrent of frustration. 

"I don't know! We've had this conversation a million times before." Harry's own frustration was considerably more obvious. Draco raised an eyebrow - chiding this time, Harry thought. 

"Sorry," he said. "Haven't been sleeping well." He rubbed his eyes, trying to force his tired mind to focus. 

Draco was watching him as he opened his eyes. "That's an understatement. Why don't you spend the night with Hermione and Ron? Try to get some real sleep."

"Can't, too much to do." said Harry, briefly and mendaciously. He had no intention of giving up his one-on-one Draco time, no matter how frustrating the subject matter. He made a heroic attempt to pull himself together. "What were you saying?"

"There must be something we are missing. What do they all have in common?"

"They were all Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers?" 

"Sarcasm isn't helpful, Harry."

Harry dropped his head into his hands, pulling at his hair. "Sorry. It's just... I have no idea what where to go next. It can't be anything they touched. Ron and I both went over both the classroom and my quarters with a fine tooth comb. And anyway, plenty of other teachers have used that classroom. Snape taught us when Remus was sick in third year and nothing happened to him." Harry winced in recollection. "At least, not then." He rubbed his sore eyes again. "How does it even know?"

Draco slowly looked up from the book in front of him. "What did you say?"

Harry looked at him in surprise, then thought back over his previous words with dawning comprehension. "How does the curse know who the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers are?" His mind raced. "It's not something they touch, it's something they _are_. But how? How does a curse tell who is a teacher and what they teach? Could it be attached to a spell? That doesn't seem likely, any teacher could do a spell and anyway, how would you put a curse on a spell. You can put a taboo on a name, but these are all different names. The only thing they have in common is that they taught Defence here."

Draco followed his train of thought. "So, Voldemort put a curse on a position description?"

"Exactly. I thought it must be something they'd used but it wasn't. It was the job itself. But how? The cursed survived its caster, so it must be on an object. So how does the object know when someone has become a Defence teacher?"

Draco looked at him. "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?" Harry was momentarily confused, then he caught Draco's meaning. "How did I know I was a Defence teacher? McGonagall told me."

"No, she asked you." Draco corrected, slowly. "Even after you accepted verbally it's not legally binding. You don't become a staff member until you sign the contract." He stood abruptly. "I know where it is."

"Where what is?"

"The object. I know what Voldemort cursed."

Draco strode towards the back of the library, talking as he went. Taken unawares, Harry hurried to catch up with him. 

"It can't be the actual contract. The legal work is done anew each time by a firm of lawyers in Edinburgh. But the details of every contract are transferred magically to the Hogwarts ledgers. No-one ever uses them; they probably haven't been disturbed in decades. We assumed before that it was something the teachers had touched or used, so I only checked the main library books for a curse. And frankly there is still so much repair work to be done on the books out here that I haven't even looked at the ledgers. But these books hold the details of every teacher Hogwarts has ever had, back to the Founding Four. They are a valuable piece of Hogwarts history. Voldemort would have enjoyed the irony; corrupting Hogwarts magic for his own purposes." Draco shook his head. "I can't believe it didn't occur to me before." The words sounded wrong to Harry, coming from someone who wasn't Hermione. "It's through here." 

Draco led Harry through a discrete door into a dark, small room. Draco pointed his wand at the ceiling and muttered a spell. Six clear globes hanging from the ceiling began to emit a clear white light. "No torches or candles in here. We can't risk a fire." Draco explained. Harry looked around the room. It was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Each bookshelf held dozens of folios of parchment bound in dull red leather. Those nearest the door looked cracked and ancient, as if the lightest touch would cause them to disintegrate. A light layer of dust covered the records. Draco looked embarrassed. "I don't get much spare time for dusting."

Despite his tension, Harry cracked a smile. "I won't tell Madam Pince if you don't." His smile faded as he looked around the room. 

Draco was examining the books, careful not to touch them. "The dates are written on the spines. We'll just have to look through them all until we find the most recent." He looked up at the towering bookcases. "This might take a while."

"Perhaps not," said Harry. Words spoken by Dumbledore tumbled through his racing brain.

_Magic leaves traces... I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style._

Harry knew his style too. This might not be a Horcrux, but Harry recognised the unsettling feeling of Dark Magic he associated with Voldemort. Stepping into the room, he was turned involuntarily towards to east wall. 

"Can't you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"That...humming. It feels dark and oily." He took another step into the room. 

"I can't feel or hear anything. Harry, I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"It's fine. I'm an Auror, remember?" Harry took another step forward. "It's here. I can feel it." The humming grew in the back of his mind. Snatches of nightmares ran through his head: the evil of the locket Horcrux reflected in Ron's red eyes, Ginny's broken body lying beneath the Basilisk, Draco falling to the Fiendfyre. 

His wand felt cool in his hand. Harry couldn't remember taking it out but he pointed it unerringly at the book. "It's this one." 

Flames danced in front of his eyes. Harry could feel the heat of the fire against his cheeks. He pulled his arm back slightly, ready to cast, the words of the spell already on his lips. Heat pulsed around him. 

"HARRY! NO!"

Harry loosened the spell. For a moment, everything was still. Then there was pain and darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry awoke with a start. Indistinct objects swam blearily in the distance. He could hear snippets of words faintly over the pounding of his head but none of it made sense. A figure moved further forward and thrust something in his face. Harry instinctively recoiled, but strong pressure on the back of his head forced him to move forward. Liquid was tipped into his mouth, making him choke then swallow. The pressure behind his head lessened and he flopped down again, closing his eyes.

As the pounding in his head subsided, Harry essayed opening his eyes again. The world still swam blearily and he groped blindly for his glasses. A gentle hand held his and placed his glasses carefully within his grasp. Harry put them on and blinked as the world sprang into focus.

"Harry? Do you know who I am?" He turned to look at Madam Pomfrey, whose professional calm belied the anxiety in her eyes. 

"Poppy?" 

She smiled, evidently relieved. "Excellent. Welcome back, Harry. You had us worried there for a while. How are you feeling?" 

"Confused," he answered honestly. 

She chuckled. "I'm not surprised. How is your head?" 

"Woolly, but not painful at the moment."

"Good to hear. You are a much better patient as a teacher than you were as a student."

Harry grinned weakly. "Just older and less inclined towards bravado," he replied.

"Hmmm. That's more than I can say for some of your colleagues," she said. 

Harry's curiosity sparked but was no match for the fatigue, so he let it go. "What happened?" he asked instead.

"I'll let your friends explain, if you feel up to a few visitors." Harry struggled to sit up and failed, wincing as his head flopped back onto his pillow. Poppy tutted disapprovingly. Deftly she helped Harry lean forward, then arranged pillows carefully behind his back. "Ten minutes," she announced, firmly. "And then it's time for you to rest. Without waiting for Harry to reply, she made her way over to the doors where Harry could here her laying the same restriction on those waiting outside. Clearly they made no more demur that Harry; he could hear the shuffle of feet on the flagstones outside before people started appearing around the door. 

Predictably, Hermione and Ron were first through the door. Less predictably, they were closely followed by Bill Weasley. Harry tried not to feel disappointed by Draco's absence, then automatically struggled to sit up properly when Professor McGonagall appeared around the corner. He gave up after Poppy's pointed cough.

"Don't strain yourself, Mr Potter. I asked Poppy to inform me when you woke up. Now that I can see you have survived, I shall leave you to your friends." Professor McGonagall favoured Harry with a small smile. "Poppy," she said, looking towards the door, "if I could have a word in your office?"

"Of course, Minerva." The two women disappeared into Madam Pomfrey's office. Despite being grown adults with children of their own, Ron and Bill heaved simultaneous sighs of relief and relaxed. Hermione sat down on the chair next to Harry's bedside while Bill and Ron found chairs of their own. 

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked. 

"Like I've been run over by a train, to be honest." 

"I'm not surprised. You were out cold for over two days." Hermione shot him her most potent disapproving look. "What were you thinking, casting that spell when you knew you were under the curse?" 

"Hermione, give the man a break," Ron said.

"I'm not sure I was thinking actually," Harry admitted. 

"Well, at least you recognise it," Hermione muttered. 

"Mum sends her love," said Ron. "She wanted to visit but she's watching Rose for us."

"Do you know what happened?" Harry asked. "Poppy wouldn't tell me anything."

"We think that when you attempted to destroy the spell it backfired onto you. You were already under the curse, so you couldn't destroy it."

"But what was the curse?" 

Ron looked at Bill, who leaned forward. "You were right, the curse was on the ledger." 

Harry shook his head carefully. "Actually, it was Draco who worked it out."

"Malfoy worked out the curse too, "Ron said "When we realised what had happened to you, we called Bill straight away. He seemed the obvious choice."

"But what was it?" Harry asked

"It was a variation of an ancient Egyptian curse." Bill settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "The Egyptians believed that names held power, so they developed curses that centred around a person's name. This particular curse was developed for criminals; the curse actually," Bill pausing, searching for a word, "you could say it investigates the victim and discovers and exploits the victim's weakest point. At the time it was invariably fatal; after a few years either the curse found a way to kill the victim or more often the victim killed themselves, fearing the outcome of the curse. 

"Voldemort didn't want to wait that long, or to draw attention to the curse, so he altered it so that the victim would have to leave Hogwarts. It still exploited the victim's weakness-- Remus left because he was werewolf, Moody was imprisoned--not even Quirrel was safe."

"And my weakness was my memories," Harry said.

"Exactly," said Bill. "Thus you got nightmares. Voldemort put a time limit on the curse and instead of placing in on a name, he cursed the job."

“What was the trigger?” asked Harry.

“It was quite clever, actually,” said Bill. “Just your name and title, said in the library. Any student asking you a question could have triggered it.”

"So the curse had been destroyed now?" 

"Yes," said Bill. "Once we knew what the curse was and how it was cast, we just had to work backwards to find the weakness in the spell. Most curses have one. In this case, it was the link to the physical object. We broke the link and the curse dissolved." Bill smiled. "I never thought I would say this, but you owe Draco Malfoy your life. He found the both the curse and the counter spell. Poppy was worried that if you stayed in that coma much longer, you wouldn't wake up."

"He owes Draco for more than that," Hermione said. "Draco shielded him when Harry's initial spell backfired. Without that shield, Harry wouldn't have survived." She turned to Harry. "He carried you from library to the hospital wing. If he hadn't been there, the shock would probably have killed you."

"Where is Draco?" Harry managed, throat tight and heart overflowing. 

"In his bed, I devoutly hope," said Poppy, reappearing from her office. Harry had a brief, and situationally inappropriate, vision of Draco spread on his sheets, all dishevelled hair and sleepy grey eyes. 

"He kept himself awake for over two days on potions and willpower. That young man will stay in his bed until I say otherwise."

Poppy's words brutally dispelled Harry's brief fantasy. He shot upright, grabbed his now pounding head and forced himself to raise it. 

"Shouldn't he be in the hospital wing so you can look after him?"

"Lie down, Mr Potter." Poppy's command voice could have rivalled any three-star general. She stared at him until he obeyed. "That's better. I think visiting hours are over."

"But Draco..." Harry protested. 

"Draco will be fine, Harry," said Hermione. "His mother is with him. He just needs to rest."

"I can assure you, Mr Potter, that all persons at Hogwarts receive the very best of care. It is my professional opinion that Mr Malfoy requires best rest and comfort, two things his mother is uniquely placed to provide." She brandished a bottle containing a foul looking liquid. "It is time for your potion."

Ron grimaced sympathetically at Harry. "We'll be back later, mate."

"Sleep well, Harry," said Bill, getting to his feet. 

"I'll check on Draco," whispered Hermione, leaning over to kiss Harry's cheek. "He'll be fine."

"Thanks Hermione," muttered Harry gratefully. Then Madam Pomfrey swooped and before Harry could protest, he was ruthlessly dosed, resettled and tucked in. He drifted off to sleep, unwillingly but inevitably. 

When he woke, Harry applied himself to the task of soothing Poppy's ruffled sensibilities. He was partially successful; Poppy eventually smiled at him, but then left him severely alone for the rest of the afternoon. By the time she reappeared two hours later, Harry felt he had never been so grateful to see another human being. There was a limit to the number of times he could count the cracks on the walls. 

Poppy bustled around Harry's bed, checking his temperature and straightening the sheets. Harry smiled at her and tried not to fidget. Finally, she appeared satisfied and smiled at Harry.

"You have a visitor, Harry."

Harry's heart sped at the flash of blonde hair then sank as the visitor emerged. He closed his gaping mouth, swallowed and attempted to smile.

"Hello, Mr Potter."

"Hello, Mrs Malfoy."

"I came to see how you were feeling."

"Much better, thank you, Mrs Malfoy. How is Draco?"

"He is weak and tired, but Madam Pomfrey believes he will be well soon. Your friend Mr Longbottom is sitting with him now."

"I'd like to see him."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait a little longer, Mr Potter, until you yourself are more recovered."

The awkward silence which ensued was finally broken by Narcissa. 

"Draco is very fond of you, Mr Potter."

"I'm very fond of him too, Mrs Malfoy."

She looked around the room. "Do you know, I don't believe this room has changed much since I was a student. I prefer to remember it this way. Rather than... that night." She smiled reminiscently. "Hogwarts has held such lovely memories for me. I was very happy here as a girl. It was here I met Lucius." She correctly interpreted the look on Harry's face. "We had many happy years together and as a family, Mr Potter. I believe once Draco had fond memories his childhood and of the Manor." Her face clouded slightly. "Not any longer, of course." 

She sighed. "It is very sad for a young man to lose his family home, Mr Potter, don't you think?"

Harry was startled into honesty. "I wouldn't know, Mrs Malfoy. I don't ever remember having one. Hogwarts was as close to a home as I ever had, growing up." 

"And yet, I believe you yourself had not been back last year."

"That is true," replied Harry slowly. "I didn't want to face the memories. Too many of them were painful."

"And now?"

"Now, I believe I have made new memories, Mrs Malfoy."

"I am very glad to hear it, Mr Potter." Narcissa fidgeted with the fringe on her scarf. It occurred to Harry that she must be nervous, though her voice gave no indication. 

"Hogwarts is Draco's home now. His sole refuge as well as his place of employment."

"Yes?" replied Harry, cautiously. 

"So, you understand that he would be...loathe to leave it, for any reason. However compelling that reason might otherwise be." 

"I can understand that, Mrs Malfoy," Harry replied, not entirely truthfully.

"I'm glad to hear it." She rose gracefully. "I shall leave you to your recovery, Mr Potter."

Narcissa turned to leave the room. "Wait, please." Harry put out a hand. Narcissa stopped but did not approach the bed. 

"Please, would you give Draco my -" His what? Love? Harry could not send that message via Draco's mother. Not without saying it first himself.

"Your regards?" suggested Narcissa, a barely perceptible smile playing around the corners of her mouth. 

"Yes, my regards," Harry agreed. 

"I shall. Goodnight Mr Potter."

"Goodnight, Mrs Malfoy."

She left the room soundlessly. Harry was still mulling over their conversation as he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"An owl for you, Mr Potter. And before you ask--" as Harry sat up eagerly,"--no, you can not leave yet. Not until I'm satisfied that there was no lasting harm. You were under that curse for two whole days; you will just have to be patient." Poppy Pomfrey scowled at him, holding the letter firmly out of reach, as if threatening to withhold Harry's correspondence over any non-compliance.

"Yes, Poppy," said Harry, with what he hoped was suitable meekness. She appeared unconvinced but nonetheless handed the letter to Harry.

"Also, you have some visitors. Mr and Mrs Weasley and Mr Malfoy are waiting outside." 

Harry's head jerked up from his examination of the envelope in his hands. "Send them in," he replied. "Please," he added at Poppy's raised eyebrow. She sniffed but went to open the doors. Moments later, Harry's field of vision was filled with bushy, brown hair before she leaned back and examined Harry's face. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Brilliant!" said Harry. Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Tired," he admitted. "But better now that I'm not just staring at the walls."

Ron snorted. "Just like old times, really. I've lost track of the number of school years that ended with you in the hospital wing."

Harry grinned. "Evidence of a misspent youth." He looked around. "Poppy said Draco was out there with you."

Ron looked around. "He was. He was right behind me." He went over to the door and craned his neck around the corner. "What are you doing out here?" Harry heard. Draco's response was indistinguishable, but Ron's hearty laugh was not. 

"Don't be such a melodramatic git," Harry heard. A few seconds later Draco's blond head appeared around the door with a slightly sheepish expression. Harry's heart turned over. Draco looked tired. His complexion was tinged grey and purple bags hung under his eyes. Even his clothes seemed looser on his body. 

"Are you alright?" Harry couldn't quite keep the concern out of his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron cast his eyes heavenward. 

"I'm fine." Draco cast an unreadable glance at the hand Harry had involuntarily stretched towards him. 

Hermione pushed a chair towards him. "For goodness sake, Draco, sit down before you fall down. If even Harry can tell you aren't well, then clearly you are on the verge of collapse." 

Harry cast Hermione an annoyed glance to which she returned an impish grin. Harry was happy to see the tactic work as Draco dropped gracefully into the chair. "How are you really feeling?" he asked. "You look shocking."

"Charming, Potter," Draco replied, flashing Harry a small smile. "Have you seen yourself? At least I've been allowed out of bed."

"Draco, you weren't so much allowed out of bed, as you leapt out and escaped while your mother's back was turned," said Hermione.

"You're not supposed to be up here?" asked Harry, torn between concern and a fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"Of course I am," said Draco, casting a surreptitious look in the direction of Poppy's office. "But I would appreciate if you could all stop shouting about it."

"What's that?" asked Ron, pointing to the letter in Harry's lap. 

"Letter from the Ministry," replied Harry, grateful for the change in subject. "It looks like Robards' handwriting."

"Probably your next assignment," said Ron, settling his feet comfortably on the end of Harry's bed. "McGonagall owled him after you woke up to let him know you had cracked the case."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Cracked the case? I'm starting to regret introducing you to Muggle murder mysteries."

"They're great," Ron enthused. "Easier to read than military history. Apparently the butler always does it. You have to admit, that's one advantage of house elves, Hermione. Much less likely to off the family members. Or steal the silverware."

Harry listened to Ron expound upon the virtues of detective stories while Hermione fought a valiant rearguard action for classic literature. Their good-natured bickering made him smile. It was their differences that made them so perfect for each other, he mused. They just... fit. It didn't make sense, it just was. 

Harry sneaked a glance at Draco. He was staring at the envelope, which was lying discarded at Harry's side, with a blank look on his face. As if he felt Harry's gaze, his head snapped up and for a moment grey eyes met green. Then Draco dropped his eyes and hoisted a polite smile on his face. He pushed his chair back and stood.

"I'm afraid I shall have to leave you," he said politely. "Please excuse me."

"Draco?" Hermione's attention was diverted from the argument. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly, thank you," he replied, polite smile still firmly in place. "However, I should return to my rooms. My mother will be wondering where I am."

"I'll walk you down if you like," she offered, concern creasing her face. 

"No need," said Draco quickly. "Really, you should stay and enjoy your visit. I will see you all another time." Draco's eyes briefly paused at Harry's again, then seemed to flinch away. "Good evening."

"What was all that about?" asked Ron, as Draco disappeared around the hospital door. 

"I don't know," said Harry. But for some reason it made him afraid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six days later Harry had come to one inescapable conclusion: Draco was avoiding him.

His first priority upon being discharged by Madam Pomfrey had been to see Draco. Unfortunately, he had been sleeping when Harry arrived at his door. Though Narcissa had assured Harry that she would alert him when Draco awoke, Harry had been summoned to the Ministry shortly thereafter. His weekend had disappeared in a morass of meetings and he had not arrived back at Hogwarts until late Sunday night. Since then, despite multiple attempts, Harry had seen neither hide nor hair of Draco. Now, sitting at teacher's table watching the excited students celebrating the Leaving feast, Harry's never-too-high stock of patience was exhausted. Something must be done and tonight, reasoned Harry, fingering the scrap of parchment in his pocket, was his last chance. 

Harry slipped away from the table into the back room behind the teacher's dais and pulled the parchment out of his pocket. Firmly suppressing his guilt at his underhanded methods, he tapped the parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he muttered.

Familiar black lines spread across the parchment. Harry felt a tug of sadness at his first use of the Marauders' Map in so long. Pushing it aside, Harry scanned the parchment for his target.

Unsurprisingly, Draco was in the library. As he stared at the name written in elegant cursive something messy leapt in Harry's chest, squishing his internal organs together and turning his stomach over. But as he hurried down the corridor towards the library a thought nagged at him. Eight years as an Auror had taught Harry to look before he leapt and he slowed. How had Draco avoided him so thoroughly? Harry had practically stalked the library for the last few days. It was as if he knew Harry was coming. What had he said that first night they had really talked...

Harry came to a stop in the hallway outside the library and grinned. Sneaky Draco. He muttered a spell. Sure enough, Draco had placed a charm outside the library doors to alert him to Harry's presence. Refusing to feel hurt, Harry disabled the spell and entered the library. 

Draco was in his office, a damaged book open on the desk in front of him. His wand was out but the furrow of concentration on his face, which Harry refused even in the privacy of his own head to call cute, was noticeably absent. Instead, he was staring blankly at the book, as if waiting for it to impart the secrets of the universe. Harry propped himself comfortably against the door jamb.

"Not hungry?"

Draco's head snapped up at the words and his eyes widened momentarily at the sight of Harry in his doorway. He regained his composure quickly.

"Not particularly, thank you."

"It's quite the feast in there. You still have time for dessert if you like. I think I saw a chocolate torte."

Draco's tone was politely inflectionless. "Thank you all the same, but I have a great deal of work to do."

Ignoring the attempted at dismissal, Harry took a step into the office. "I've been trying to find you."

"Oh?" queried Draco faintly.

"To say thank you. You saved my life."

Disappointment flashed briefly in Draco's eyes. "No thanks are required. I'm sure anyone would have done the same."

Harry took another step. "I guess we are even then."

This time it was hurt appearing in Draco's eyes. "Indeed." He made visible effort and smiled politely. "I'm afraid I really am very busy, Professor Potter. If you will excuse me."

"I'm not a professor any more. The curse had been destroyed and the school year is over. I'm going back to London tomorrow." Draco couldn't quite cover his wince but did not speak. Harry plunged on. "I've been promoted actually."

It was a moment before Draco spoke. "That's excellent news. You must be very happy."

Harry smiled, feeling slightly more confident now. "I am. I've been working towards this for quite a while, so it's nice that it's finally happening." He paused, before saying diffidently, "I have some leave coming up before my new position starts. Would you...umm... could I interest you in coming up to London during the school holidays? We could have dinner, and maybe see a show?" He smiled hopefully.

Draco dropped his eyes and fiddled with his wand. "I'm afraid I will be busy during these holidays. I don't think I will have any spare time available. I'm sorry."

Harry smiled at the top of the bowed head. 

Draco stood abruptly, polite smile firmly in place. "I must return to work now," he said in a clear tone of dismissal. He held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Auror Potter."

Harry took the proffered hand and cradled it between his own. "And with you, Draco." He searched the shuttered eyes in front of him. "Won't you reconsider?" he asked. "You could spend a few days with me. I have a spare bedroom. I could show you Muggle London - I know where all the good museums are. I could take you to the British Library if you like."

The polite mask cracked. Draco looked away. "I can't," he whispered.

"Very well." Harry gently squeezed the hand in his then let go and stepped back. "I guess I'll see you on September first, then."

Startled grey eyes flew to his. "September first?"

"At the Sorting Feast," Harry clarified. "I won't be a staff member, but I'm hoping I can persuade Professor McGonagall to invite the local bobby."

"Bobby?" repeated Draco.

"It's a Muggle term for policeman. My promotion - I've been put in charge of the new community-based Auror program. The Ministry have agreed to some... decentralisation of the Aurors. We'll be placing small teams of Aurors within large wizarding populations." Harry smiled. "As the first and largest dedicated Wizarding community, I've decided that the program headquarters should be Hogsmeade." 

"Hogsmeade?" repeated Draco.

"Hogsmeade," confirmed Harry.

"You'll be living in Hogsmeade," Draco said, expression blank.

"Yes," said Harry, starting to feel concerned. "It seemed the most sensible solution to mmmmph--"

Draco had lunged across the desk and grabbed Harry's robes. Harry barely had time to catch his balance before Draco's mouth was on his and he was metaphorically, and happily, falling. 

Some time later Harry was recalled to his surroundings by the sounds of chattering school children passing the library door. He removed himself from Draco's lap and ran his hands through his more-than-usually dishevelled hair. 

"It sounds like the feast is finished," he said. "Maybe we should-"

"Stop," said Draco.

"Take this elsewhere," finished Harry.

Harry scolded his mind for comparing Draco's slow smile to a blooming flower. All the Lockhart reading was teaching it to think in clichés. 

"I like your idea better," admitted Draco. He reached for Harry's hand. "Come on. My rooms are closer."

For a man of such natural grace, Draco had considerable difficulty opening the door to his quarters, possibly because his hands were full of, well, Harry. After several blissful moments being snogged against Draco's door, Harry's wandering hands finally located the door knob. He was surprised to find that it turned under his hand, but all further thought was put on hold as they stumbled through the doorway. Draco clumsily manoeuvred them towards the sofa, via several walls and a sturdy cabinet. 

Harry was lost amidst smooth skin, pounding heartbeats and grey eyes. His hands moved over Draco, learning every crevasse by touch. His fingers encountered a ridge of scar tissue and he winced, knowing he was responsible for the line marring the skin. He had pulled away from the kiss, desperate to apologise, but the words escaped him as Draco's mouth moved further down his body to a particularly sensitive spot. He arched in pleasure- 

-and abruptly found himself flat on his back on the floor next to the sofa. He stared at the ceiling, dazed, until Draco's slightly blurry face filled his field of vision.

Draco sounded as if he was stifling laughter. "Are you alright?" 

Harry closed his eyes. "I fell off the couch, didn't I?" Draco's full-throated laughter answered more than adequately. Despite his embarrassment, Harry couldn't help but smile at the sound. He had never heard Draco's laugh so freely. A bit of bruising and some stiff muscles suddenly seemed a small price to pay. He opened his eyes, took the blurry hand Draco offered, and hauled himself upright.

"I seem to have lost my glasses somewhere along the way," said Harry, fumbling for his wand. 

"Let me," said Draco, amusement still dancing in his voice. " _Accio_ Harry's glasses."

Harry felt careful hands place the glasses on his face and the world snapped again into focus. Harry leaned forward to give Draco a gentle kiss then dropped his head ruefully onto Draco's shoulder. Draco rubbed Harry's back consolingly. "It's probably for the best," he said after a minute. "My bed is only a single and we probably need something-"

"Enormous," muttered Harry.

"More comfortable," finished Draco, with another choke of laughter. He led Harry back to the sofa and sat them both down. Harry shamelessly snuggled into Draco's side and rested his head on Draco's shoulder.

"I was hoping you would ask McGonagall to let you stay," Draco confessed after a moment.

"I thought about it," Harry admitted. "I've enjoyed teaching and I'd like to come back to it one day. But I still have things to do in the Aurors, you know. I hate it, but if they will get done more easily with my name attached, then that's what I'll do."

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" The anxiety was evident in Draco's tone. "Moving here, for us to be together... it's a big change. You'll be giving up so much. What if this doesn't work? You might regret..." 

Harry pushed himself up to look at Draco, who had studiously averted his gaze. 

"Draco, I'm not doing this for you. Well, not entirely; you might have influenced the position of the headquarters." The stiff set to Draco's shoulders started to soften. "I've been lobbying for this for the last year." Harry smiled. "I was going to tell you about it that day in the hospital wing but you disappeared. The owl I got was to tell me that the program had been included in the Ministry budget for next year. I won't risk another Voldemort situation. People need a local law enforcement officer in their community. Someone who can keep an eye on things and take action before it all gets out of hand. And some distance from the Ministry wouldn't hurt either."

He reached out a hand and pulled Draco's chin around gently to face him. "I'm doing this work because I think it's important. I'm doing it here because I think you are important. I could never regret either of those things."

Draco's kiss was hard against his lips. Harry responded enthusiastically until he felt himself teetering of the edge of the sofa. A strong hand grabbed his robes and pulled him back. Harry sniggered and tucked himself up next to Draco again. 

And vowed that tomorrow he was going to go out and buy himself a house in Hogsmeade. With a really big bed.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/60707.html).


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